


The Shades of Your Emotions

by monbae



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Miscommunication, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Resurfacing Traumas, Self-Esteem Issues, Tragic Childhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monbae/pseuds/monbae
Summary: Yeosang and Wooyoung have a strong relationship based on long years of love, being perfectly content with the gentle grayness softly covering them. But what happens when San unintentionally tears this bubble into drops of different colors, creating hues until now unimaginable to the other two?(important: read A/N)
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Kang Yeosang, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, past! Choi San/Park Seonghwa, past! Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	1. Y: The Way We Exist

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: i've deleted my old account probably a week or so and i've done it impulsively. but here i am reuploading it bc i thought about it (hah ...) and i think the people who have enjoyed reading it until now should have the chance to read it from the beginning to the very end (which i'm planning to write soon)
> 
> those who have read it already know, but i'm saying this to the ones who might be reading it for the first time: words/ sentences in italics are the main character's (which will be specified at the beginning of each chapter) thoughts

Silence soaks itself into the empty spaces of the small apartment, getting slowly teared apart by the soft, flavescent sunlight creeping through the windows. The first shadows in shades of grey-blue and mauve make their territory on the ground, starting their day-long slow dance with the sun. A clock somewhere ticking loud and clear, breaking into pieces the last remaining parts of the night.

A car passing by, someone’s shoes making a strong clicking sound on the pavement, a quiet conversation on the terrace nearby, the clattering sound of a bicycle’s basket. Tiny white noises indicating the start of the day, all these invited inside by an open window to disturb the light bubble surrounding the two sleeping figures.

Ivory colored sheets tangled up with long naked limbs still warm from sleep. Cheeks pressed into the delicate surface of the pillows, thin hands intertwined together from last night, under the bright glittering eyes of the stars, dark hair hiding faces. A motionless moment until the alarm goes off. The strong, air splitting sound bounces off the walls, echoing through the flat, waking up the dreamers from the welcoming nothingness of their rest.

A lean arm shots out from under the covers turning the device off. He turns on his back, covering his still closed eyes with a cold hand, exhaling forcefully. Inhaling and exhaling again.

“What is it?” The other’s voice still deep and tired from sleep. He squeezes lightly their linked hands and turns to the side, opening his eyes. A dark brown that resembles the barks of those pine trees up in the mountains always pressured by a thick fog and coldness, frozen forever. Despite their harsh color, his eyes held nothing but honey-like sweetness. Only for him.

He looks at the other’s face, eyes still covered by his hand, waiting.

“Just remembered that we are going to have a large shipment arriving this afternoon and I’m probably going to be the one doing the inventory because those two always have something scheduled for Thursday,” he sighs, squeezing the other’s hand back. 

“And?”

“I’m going to stay there until late in the evening, organizing everything. Are you okay with cooking today or should I swing by that Italian place and get something?”

The other laughs short and airily, bringing the younger one’s hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

“I will take care of it, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. I know that you’re perfectly capable of doing small things like cooking dinner. It’s just that you’re going to be way more tired from work, being the end of the month, and all that,” he takes a short pause, “I don’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

“It’s okay. Yours are holding up much more every day, it’s the least that I can do.”

Then he tugs on his hand, turning the other so he can face him. He opens his eyes, the same grey color as the sky on a spring, rainy day. He inherited them from his late mother. Always told that it is because it rained on the day he was born and rained on the day she died. While he was young his grandmother used to tell stories about God being heavyhearted when a sad soul arrived on Earth and gave them grey eyes, mirroring the bittersweet emotions. _It is a big burden being marked by such impressive and untouchable higher power,_ said the older woman, always pushing the child to find someone that could make him happy. And his father laughed every single time this tale was told. _It’s because of genetics,_ _nothing more,_ he said while turning a page from the newspaper and drinking his too sweet morning coffee.

“Where are you lovely?”

He calmly blinks two times, lets whatever thought that is on his mind go, shaking his head before he smiles.

“Hi.”

“Hi baby,” he searches his face for some kind of sign but when finds nothing, he kisses his forehead and tugs on their hands, bringing him closer to his body, hugging tightly. A cold hand circles around his waist, while the younger pushes his head into the space between his neck and shoulder, inhaling the smell of his skin. This is what happiness looks like right now.

After a long minute, the alarm goes off again, signaling that they have less time to prepare for the day. Groaning, he pulls himself up and away from the embrace, shuts the device off again, and with quick moves lifts himself from the bed, bare feet touching the cold ground.

“Oh, I forgot it.”

“What?”

“Do you have time to water the plants before work? I promised Mrs. Kim to take Sunshine on a walk this morning because her niece is crashing at her place and she does not want to leave the kid alone.”

“When is she coming over?” he asks, slowly lifting himself in a sitting position, watching the man put on some worn-out clothes for the early morning jog with the neighbor’s dog.

“I said that she should come over between seven and -” only to be interrupted by the doorbell. “Be a sweetheart and open the door for me please, just need to wash my face and I’ll be out of the place in a second” he shouts on his way to the bathroom.

Sighing he puts his nightshirt on and goes to open the front door. While passing the mirror in the hallway he catches his reflection and winces at it. His hair needs a quick wash and the bags under his eyes a few more hours of sleep. 

_What a fucking joke._

He opens the door to be greeted by a smiling woman in her late 40’s and her overly excited chow-chow puppy.

“Ah, Yeosang-ah, good morning dear.”

“Morning Mrs. Kim,” he says while bending down to scratch the dog behind the ears,” hi beautiful, how are you?”

“As you can see she’s over the moon that Wooyoung is the one taking her on a walk,” her reply followed by a short, sharp bark from the puppy. Yeosang lets his head fall, burying his face in the puppy’s fur and closing his eyes for a second only to open them again when the bathroom door is shut. He turns to look at Wooyoung, at his face being red from the cold water and his eyes shining with something unknown.

_Oh god, I love you so much._

“Morning Mrs. Kim,” he exclaims while putting on his running shoes, tying the laces.

“Oh Wooyoung-ah, my dear,” she says and jumps slightly when the dog pulls the leash out of her hand and runs straight to the man, jumping around with joy, making them laugh at the action.

“Let’s get going pup” he takes Sunshine’s leash, kisses Yeosang on the cheek, and with a small wave of the hand to the neighbor lady he leaves the apartment with quick steps.

After saying goodbye, Yeosang closes the door, pushing his back to it and debating what to do first. Having coffee before breakfast is going to be a pain later, the problem being him having no appetite at the moment. Wooyoung is going to be mad if he can’t drink his coffee, and of course, he’s going to skip breakfast reasoning with stuff like being late for work. He definitely won’t be late. 

_Why is it so goddamn hard?_

He decides to water the plants first, then to make some breakfast and put some coffee on the stove. He takes the can they always use for watering plants, fills it with cold water, and starts the long process of nourishing every single one of Wooyoung's babies.

The younger has a habit of buying new plants to fill empty spaces in their home. There is at least one potted plant on every surface, be it the kitchen counter, the living room table, the bathroom sink, or the window sill. The hallway, the living room, and the bedroom floor are also incredibly crowded. Not to mention the balcony, which in itself is a whole oasis in the middle of these tall buildings, with its different kinds of plants hanging from above, snaking around the bars of the railing. Cactuses and succulents in all kinds of shapes, sizes, and colors. They all love being here, in the warm embrace of the sun and their dad. Yeosang and Wooyoung even have a framed picture with the younger man holding a huge azalea in his hands, his face shadowed by the flowers, a smile splitting his facial features with the words ’ _best plant dad in the world_ ’ written at the bottom.

It’s home, so he carefully waters each one of them, even if his arms are going numb at the end from too much lifting.

The front door opens the moment Yeosang puts the fire out from under the coffee maker. He already had his share of breakfast, waiting for Wooyoung to arrive back.

“That smells nice,” the younger says, smiling at him then disappearing to take a quick shower. Yeosang chuckles and pours himself a cup, sitting down to enjoy it while bathing in the morning sunlight falling through the window. The opening and closing sound of the door brakes his attention and he hears the sound of bare feet on the ground coming closer. Turning his head in the direction of the door, he looks at Wooyoung, who stands there, in only his underwear, arms hanging by his side, smiling that childish smile, the one he adores so-so much.

_Oh, my fucking …_

He approaches Yeosang silently, stops in front of the chair snaking his arms around the older neck, tugging him closer, resting his head on his. Yeosang automatically puts his arms around his back and inhales the smell of his skin, where his face is buried in his stomach.

“Have I told you today that I love you?”

“Not yet,” the younger chuckles at his answer, grabbing his chin with a still cold hand lifting his face upward, and kissing him firmly on the mouth.

“Love you,” he whispers against his lips, leaving him breathless for the first time that day.

“I love you too, baby” he whispers back, closing his eyes and enjoying the warm closeness of his body. After a second, he tightens his hold. “Go shower, your coffee is going to get cold.”

The word okay leaving his mouth is soundless. He extracts himself, smiling at Yeosang for a second before leaving for his shower.

He is already quite late for work when he knocks on the bathroom door, all dressed up with keys in his hand.

“Young-ah, I’m leaving first,” he says it louder for the younger to hear.

“Okay, take care, see you later,” he shouts from the other side of the door.

Halfway down the stairs, he bumps into the tall guy living right across from them. He lives with his fiancé whose name is associated with one of Seoul’s leading fashion labels. They came here two or three months ago looking for a cozy and quiet place and have fallen in love with the apartment on the spot. Moved in shortly after buying it. They had invited Yeosang and Wooyoung over for dinner countless times and the four of them even went to different social gatherings together. Despite all of those, Yeosang still feels uneasy and uncomfortable around the pair.

“Yeosangie!! It’s so good seeing you.”

“Is it really, Yunho-ssi?” he says lifting one brow. Being unnecessarily polite was something Yeosang detested with his whole being ever since he was a little kid.

“Oh, come on, don’t be so cold. Of course, I’m happy to see you. I have some news” he smiles like it’s the easiest thing to do and smacks Yeosang friendly on the upper arm, “and I told you to call me hyung.”

_Oh, for the ever-loving …_

“It’s okay hyung, tell me.”

“One of Hongjoong’s college friends is having his first exhibition at the Main Art Gallery. Tomorrow’s the opening around 5 o’clock and Hongjoong managed to get two tickets for you and Wooyoung.”

_Am I allowed to tell him no after his boyfriend got a free pass for us? Am I? Probably not._

The only inconvenience is that Friday nights are always spent in the living room, chilling on the couch and watching movies till late in the evening, while eating take out from the Thai restaurant down the street, then sleeping till noon the next day.

“Sure,” he says hanging his head low so the other can’t read his sour expression.

_The things we do to not hurt others ..._

“Cool! I will text Wooyoung the details, see you tomorrow Yeosangie!” he shouts while already taking the stairs to his flat.

⚬

Working with numbers, sitting in one place, and looking at the screen of one’s computer is not the dream job that Yeosang wished for. But it’s easy and pays well so he doesn’t utter a single bad word regarding it. But at the same time, it’s still exhausting and he is way more tired than he should be, the amount of work dumped on him being insane. He honestly thinks that it’s illegal working this hard and this much. But he never complains. Not because he’s shy or doesn’t want his opinion voiced. No, he never complains because others have it worse than him and still have the time and the energy to smile at him and ask how his day was.

_And I smile back and ask them the same. What a fucking hypocrite._

He clocks out a little after five o’clock, reminding himself to stop at the shop down the street to buy ingredients for dinner. Wooyoung texted him earlier saying that the shipment arrived so he’s putting his phone away to concentrate on the job.

Thankfully the shop isn’t full as he lazily pushes his cart in front of himself checking out things displayed on the shelves and putting the ones he needs in the cart. As he’s waiting in line, he makes a promise to appreciate Wooyoung more for always doing the cooking and the daily shopping. Yeosang can’t imagine himself doing this every single day, thinking about what to make for them, shopping, staying in one spot for more minutes than necessary, waiting for people to move faster.

_I can’t be the one that finds this whole thing boring and a total waste of time._

He takes the bus back home. Thankful again that there is more than enough space to sit down without being asked to stand up so that some elder person could take his seat. Resting the bag full of groceries in his lap, he watches the city go by, almost too blurry for him. The rays of the late afternoon sun hurt his tired eyes, so he closes them, letting the warmth soak in through his eyelids. He definitely falls asleep because the next time he opens his eyes the loudspeaker is announcing his station and he panics a little before realizing that he still has a little time to get off.

⚬

The apartment is quiet. Wooyoung probably left a window or two open, judging by the small noise the wind is making while playing with the curtains. Yeosang leaves his keys on the small table next to the door and puts the bags in the kitchen.

When Wooyoung enters the flat around nine, he looks close to death. His eyes tired and watery, the bags under them visible and by the way his shoulders fall, Yeosang knows that it was a hard day. He puts the spoon he is holding down and with large strides, he approaches the other one and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Wooyoung stands there with his hands weakly around the older waist, face against his shoulder exhaling loud and painfully. 

They stay like that for long minutes, Wooyoung resting his head on his shoulder and slightly shaking in his hold. Yeosang draws circles on his back, letting the other's tiredness to ease a little bit out. After those silent moments, the younger tightens his hold on Yeosang and kisses his collarbone which peeks out from under his t-shirt. Then he kisses his neck, sucking on his skin leaving small bruises to bloom. Yeosang closes his eyes, savoring each and everything that Wooyoung gives him. At a really hard bite, a small whine escapes through his lips, letting his head fall back giving his lover full access to his neck. Wooyoung devours it with indescribable hunger, then lifts his head and crushes their lips together in a bruising kiss, leaving the older breathless once again. Their lips move effortlessly against each other, sliding easily back together after they come up for air. These fast and heavy moments are one of Yeosang’s favorites when he can let his whole guard down and give Wooyoung the decision to do with him whatever he pleases.

But it’s short-lived when Wooyoung's cold hands slip under his clothes to touch his skin. Yeosang yelps at the contact making the younger bit down on his lips accidentally, groaning against them before gently pecking them and moving his lips close to the other’s ear to whisper.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight, sweetheart” he growls in the older ear, biting down on the silver ring. “Make you into a sweet mess that only knows how to scream my name. Going to love you so good baby,” he pauses to kiss his ear then blows hot air against the wet skin, feeling the shiver that rips through the other’s spine. Pushes his forehead against Yeosang’s, closing his eyes and letting himself lulled by his lover's ragged breathing.

“W-Wooyoung?” his uneven breathing making it hard to form words. 

The silence is becoming too long and heavy between them.

“I love you so much,” his voice suddenly too close to crying and Yeosang connects their lips fast again. He’s a coward who can’t handle the image of a crying Wooyoung.

A soft, lazy kiss to the corner of his mouth to ease the pain.

“Let’s eat first and after it, I’ll let you do whatever you want with me,” and even though the pleasure from before is warm inside him, burning his skin and his heart going crazy in his ribcage, he still pushes it down. Taking care of Wooyoung always comes before his desires.

_Someone has to be the strong one._

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to, it happens to anyone being this tired. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah. Just let me wash up real quick,” he mumbles into his shoulder, pulls himself out from the arms which cage him to the other. Pushing his dark bangs back and wiping the tears that escaped from his eyes, he smiles sadly at Yeosang kissing his forehead once again, leaving him standing alone in the dimly lit hallway.

Dinner is spent quietly, with Wooyoung telling him that while doing the inventory he spilled a whole cup of hot coffee on the written pages, ruining his work totally.

“I had ten or fifteen left. Just wanted a quick break, not a fucking breakdown,” he sighs frustrated, burying his head into his open palms. “Every single word was washed out from the paper. I couldn’t save a damn thing,” leaning back against the chair, making his head fall backward, “managed to rewrite the first twenty pages, but I gave up when my hands started shaking. I’m probably going to stay late tomorrow too, sorry babe.”

“It's okay. I guess we are not going then -”

“Go where? And why not?”

“He didn’t text you?”

“Who didn’t what? What are you talking about Yeosang?”

_Should have kept my mouth shut._

“Talked to Yunho this morning. Hongjoong got us free tickets to his friend’s debut exhibition at the Main, it’s tomorrow.”

“Fuck.”

“Well yeah. I couldn’t exactly tell him no after he even got us those for free. He said he’s going to message you the details. Guess he didn’t do it.”

“No, I received nothing from him. At what time is it?”

“Around six or seven, don’t remember.”

“And you want to go?”

“No, but what did you expect me to say? Sorry hyung, we can’t, Fridays are for Netflix and chill.”

Wooyoung laughs sharply at his words.

“We don’t even have Netflix to use it as an excuse.”

“Tell me then. What should I have said? Sorry I’m not interested because I’m fucking -“

“Yeosang!”

He turns his head to the side to avoid looking at Wooyoung, his cheeks stained with red because of the sudden anger in the other’s voice. Tears swell in his eyes, leaving him mute for a second or two. Biting his lips harder than necessary, trying to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry love, didn’t want to shout.”

“It’s okay, I deserved it -“

“You deserve only the best. Me shouting at you is nothing but the worst.”

Wooyoung reaches across the table taking Yeosang’s hand from his lap and intertwined their fingers firmly.

“Look at me sweetheart,” he says and waits patiently for the other to turn his head in his way.

Yeosang squeezes his eyes shut tightly, taking two deep breaths and looking at Wooyoung.

“Hi, baby.”

_I don’t deserve him._

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. Everything is fine.”

_How?_

“Let’s go to bed,” he says tugging on their joint hands, leaving the empty dishes on the table. Shutting down the lights, carefully making their way to the bedroom, guided by the light of the stars peeking through the glass roof of the hallway.

The soft bed sheets are cold against Yeosang’s heated skin, the blush making his body burn with pleasure. His sensitive spots abused by Wooyoung’s sinful lips and skilled tongue, dark spots blooming over his torso.

Coating his fingers with lube, filling the air with the familiar smell of sweet peaches, Wooyoung slowly pushes two of his fingers inside the tight heat making Yeosang moan loud at the cold pressure against his walls. Scissoring his fingers gently while searching for that spot that would always make the older a crying mess, he continues kissing the inner side of his thighs, biting down and sucking tenderly on the flushed warm skin. Yeosang is making small noises under him, closing his eyes shut, grabbing at the sheets tightly, his tights shaking. Wooyoung takes the tip of his cock between his lips and starts sucking on it, rolling his tongue around it while adding a third finger, making Yeosang cry out of pleasure. After finding that sweet spot inside the other, making him arch his back and scream silently, he takes the whole length into his mouth, gagging on it. He does it repeatedly until he feels the tiny cuts on his lower lips ache, so pulls off, spit running down his chin he looks at his man slowly giving it all up to his desires.

“Come on baby, give it to me” he growls, continuing to leave small kisses on his tight, letting out a muffled scream when the older tugs on his black locks hard, clenching his tights together choking the younger one.

“Woo-ah, let me have it, please, please, please,” he chants loudly while tugging more forcefully on the other’s hair. Wooyoung lifts his head looking at his already wrecked body, the blooming flowers on his skin, the dark flush of his cheeks, the lust fogging his eyes, the tears spilling effortlessly down his face.

“You’re such a mess darling, how could I ever resist you?” he says squeezing more lube on his cock and lifting Yeosang’s legs up to his waist, pushing slowly in, moaning loud at the pressure around him. Thrusting leisurely, moving in and out at a slow pace, savoring the warm feeling surrounding him, blunt nails digging into his back leaving small half-moons on his skin, lighting up galaxies on their way. He speeds up his movements when the noises under him start to vibrate through his body. Giving into everything that the other want, fucking him nice and hard until his name is the only thing on Yeosang’s lips.

“Come for me baby,” he whispers before kissing him hungrily, pushing his hips faster, enjoying the feeling of Yeosang’s body closing around him, making his vision go blurry for a second. The orgasm hits them hard, stars sparkle under closed eyelids, and his body shaking uncontrollably. 

They collapse, trying to catch their breath while enjoying the other’s weight on their body. The last thing that Yeosang remembers after closing his eyes is the cool, wet texture of a towel on his skin, then Wooyoung’s cold hands on his waist and his lips whispering sweet nothings against his ear until he shuts down completely.


	2. W: Unknown Painful Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung and Yeosang go to the exhibition. It does not end well at all.

These soft mornings when the sky is still trying to undress his dark shades, extinguishing the light of small, naughty stars with its baby-pink highlighter. Dreamlike clouds decorating the edges, getting ready for the grand appearance of the sun. The fragile silence in the air.

Wooyoung loves these mornings. Waking up before the alarm clock to admire the joyful game of the colors chasing each other out of the sky. Then when the first rays of the sun start to illuminate the curtains, casting shadows on the ground he turns his attention back to the sleeping body next to him. The slow movement of the ribcage under the sheets, hands on the pillow, flowers gracing the other’s skin smiling under their breath, his dark tousled hair.

_Sleeping Beauty got nothing on him._

He tucks a stray lock behind his ear, skids his fingers across the prominent cheekbone, touching the corner of his overly bitten lips, still more ruby than its natural shade. Wooyoung wants to smile but the cuts on his lip protest greatly at the action, making him wince lowly. How cruel to bruise so easily.

Slowly lifting himself in a sitting position, he stretches his back, lifting his arms high in the air, the satisfying sound of bones popping and the coldness coming through the open window makes him shiver slightly. Too occupied with the tingling sensation in his shoulders, he doesn't notice the strong arm rounding his waist or the warm breath against his skin. He jolts at the feeling of lips pressed to the dimples at the small of his back, arching his body lightly and he closes his eyes, sinking into the pleasure flooding his senses. Yeosang bites and kisses at the small bumps, tracing them with his tongue leaving wet marks and dark spots, making the younger whine quietly. He sits up while kissing his way up meticulously on Wooyoung’s spine and wrapping his fingers gently around his already half-hard cock, smearing the precome over it. Jerks him off lazily while nipping at his shoulder and kissing the back of his neck, letting the small sounds escaping his lips settle in the misty corner of his memory for the thousandth time. Wooyoung comes with a loud moan, clutching his fingers into Yeosang’s upper arm and panting tiredly, then leaning his head on the older man’s shoulder trying to catch his breath while the other’s hand drawing irregular patterns over his hip bone.

“You okay?”

“Hmm.” 

They stay like that, arms around each other, soft breaths against warm skin, enjoying the stillness of the morning until it’s cut off by the short melody of a phone announcing the arrival of a new message.

**Jeong Yunho:** left the tickets for you under the mat

⚬ 

The morning rush is gradually coming to an end, leaving the small shop mostly empty. Wooyoung is grateful for the sudden quietness, wanting to look up the artist whose exhibition they were invited to ever since he opened the black envelope with the tickets. Sitting at the counter with his second coffee the day, he looks quickly around the place checking if he is needed, and when realized that everyone is busy with their book and beverage, he turns his attention back to his laptop typing the name in the search box. Then slaps himself over the head mentally when the internet brings up the same information written on the tickets.

_It’s his debut you complete moron, of course, you won’t find anything._

He is interested. Not in the person, but in the art. He always had a deep connection with art and ever since he met Yeosang, he became more and more obsessed with it. Wooyoung liked to learn about them, studying every color and painting closely, trying to come up with different kinds of definitions for the feelings swelling inside his body. Naming the still unknown sentiments shaking him down to the core and feeling satisfied when Yeosang would nod his head, signaling that he understood what he was talking about.

Before he gives up, Wooyoung shoots a quick message to Hongjoong, hoping that the other would respond.

**Jung Wooyoung:** can you maybe send me some of his work?

**Kim Hongjoong:** why exactly?

_That was quicker than expected._

**Jung Wooyoung:** wanna do some research for later

But after ten minutes of no answer from the other man, Wooyoung sighs defeated, tossing his phone away, and goes back to recover his ruined work. Tapping on his keyboard diligently and clicking the save button after every new entry.

_I’ll be damned if I have to redo this once more._

Sometimes around noon, after serving two college girls, he receives an email with the subject: _Please delete it afterward._ He snickers while reading it, but does as he is told after downloading the attached file, pushing it in the corner of the screen, and going back to work.

Two hours before closing, he managed to finish the whole inventory, saving it twice for sure and checking around again but finding himself all alone.

Hongjoong sent him five pictures. But after seeing them Wooyoung is having a hard time squeezing air into his lungs. 

_This is too much._

He has to stand up, walk around the tables, collecting the books people left behind themselves, and putting them back on the shelves. And only after feeling slightly better does he sit back on the chair to look at the paintings again. Hues of pink, purple, black, brown, and red.

_Who the fuck hurt you this bad?_

He starts to feel a small pain inside his chest, like the times Yeosang would cry and blame himself for everything. Those colors and their combinations are making his heart ache. The way the shades scream at him, scratching at the surface of his skin, leaving blood dripping down his hand is overwhelming. Wooyoung starts shaking in fear, but his eyes stay on the screen. The sensation of getting his heart ripped out, looking at the hole in his chest, feeling nothing at all and too much at the same time. This is what drowning in silence felt like when nobody around hears the screaming.

With a quick move, he shuts the laptop and opens the closest window to let the fresh air inside to calm himself. He hopes that the artist wasn’t in a bad place at the time he painted all those pieces that were going to be introduced to the world later on today. He hopes because bursting to tears at an art gallery while looking at colors that physically hurt is not part of how Wooyoung wants to spend his evening.

**Wooyoung:** it’s going to be a lot to take in

**My Love:** it’s the same every single time

“It’s going to be so much more, baby,” he whispers to the empty shop. How was he going to explain to the other what he feels? Could he even describe it?

_I’m not ready to stain my shirt with other’s unknown pain._

He leaves the window open, goes back to one of the shelves, and takes down his favorite poetry book, easing himself into a plush armchair and trying to forget the mash of those cruel colors. But it’s hard to ignore the feeling when the body clearly remembers everything.

⚬ 

Seeing Yeosang in all black isn’t something that Wooyoung was prepared for. It still gives him heart palpitations even after all those years of them being and living together. So he stands frozen with the keys in his hand looking at the other like he can’t believe his eyes.

“Hi lovely, I thought that we will meet at the venue,” Yeosang’s voice is tired, his whole being looks tired, but the golden light of the sun is making him glow like a Greek goddess, a very tired one and Wooyoung is having a hard time convincing himself to go to the event, instead of just letting everything go and stay home, take a relaxing bath with him, watch a movie or two, order takeout and make love to his baby all night.

He knows that he was spacing out the moment Yeosang cups his face between his hand softly speaking his name.

“Young-ah, are you okay love?”

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, fuck.”

“I appreciate it, but that isn’t an answer to my question,” he chuckles lightly, looking at Wooyoung confused and worried.

“Of course I’m okay, you’re here with me. I don’t need anything else,” he says, covering the hands on his cheeks with his own, kissing the middle of Yeosang’s palm, then looking up with mischief sparkling in his eyes, grinning “or maybe just you, naked in our bed.”

The other’s laugh is breaking his previous uneasiness and he lets out a relieved sigh.

_I don’t need more than this._

“You’re spacing out again. Go change, we are already late and I’m sure that Hongjoong will be mad at us for at least a week if we decide to skip this whole thing. He even told me to tell you to don’t make him regret his decision of sending you those pictures.”

“Oh, so his last resort is emotional manipulation. Like that would work on me.”

“Just go change, I’m getting quite curious about this. First your message, then his warning. Has this person done something that I should be concerned about? “

“For the sake of our sanity, I hope he didn’t .”

He raises an eyebrow then pushes Wooyoung in the direction of the bedroom, who drops his bag on the floor, and before going to change watches the older make himself comfortable in his armchair next to the window.

_So it’s one of those days._

He quickly washes up, replaces his ripped jeans with one that doesn’t have holes in it, and picks up one of his less sophisticated dress shirts. He hopes that visiting the exhibition is a choice that he won’t regret later. 

Yeosang is still in his personal space, looking at the buildings across the street, all big white walls under the sky. Wooyoung leans against the glass wall and watches him with an intense stare.

“Babe?”

“Hmm.”

“We should go,” he whispers, unable to raise his voice higher.

“Give me five more minutes,” he says without turning back to look at the other.

“Okay.” 

It isn’t unusual. Things like this happen all the time. Just a small change of mind.

At the beginning of their relationship when they were still in high-school, Wooyoung used to sit with Yeosang under the old Ginkgo tree, in the sunnier corner of the backyard, reading book after book in-between classes. The other would stay silent, watching the sky and the movement of the clouds or he would close his eyes, rest his head on Wooyoung’s shoulder and ask the younger to read out loud, filling the back canvas before his closed eyes. But most of the time he stayed quiet, while Wooyoung became more and more aware of it. How he sometimes needed to close himself out of his mind, to be at peace with his existence. So he learned how to talk when needed and how to stay silent when only his presence was necessary. When words failed, the eyes and the gestures of the body could speak volumes.

After they moved in together, Yeosang asked for a small space just for himself, where even Wooyoung had to ask for permission to enter. A tiny space, between the kitchen and the bedroom, separated from them with glass walls and heavy curtains, with no door at all, just an armchair before the window. That was Yeosang’s safe place when his problems became too big, his feelings too heavy. When he couldn’t tell Wooyoung all the things that bothered him, when he needed time to escape his thoughts or when he just simply wanted the world to stop existing. And maybe Wooyoung hated when he was in that state of mind, but he would rather break his hand first than interfere with the other’s personal space. No matter how close their bond or relationship is, personal space was and will always be sacred for both of them _. If my soul doesn’t invite you, you can’t come in,_ were Wooyoung’s words the first time Yeosang invaded his flood of thoughts, messing up his emotions.

⚬

They are already two hours late when they arrive at the gallery, the cool air from inside chilling their senses with a few guests walking around the different sections, but besides that, the whole place seems rather empty. 

The sudden weight of an arm across Wooyoung's shoulders makes him jump, looking at the sour expression on Hongjoong’s face.

“You’re late.”

“Believe me when I say that I was very close to skip this whole thing, free entry or not.”

“That’s not how you treat people who do things for you, Wooyoung-ah. I helped you out even when it wasn’t a good decision. If he finds out that you have seen those paintings, he will be really mad at me,” the authority in his voice is slowly fading out. “I thought that you cared about this whole thing. You’re making me kind of disappoint -”

_Please don’t say it, please don’t, please ..._

“He had work to finish, it’s not like he could just leave earlier and we are here, the exhibition is going to be open for at least two hours, so I don’t see the problem with us being late,” the sharp edge of Yeosang’s calm voice is a sound Wooyoung knows pretty well. 

The sound of anger when someone precious is mistreated, bothered, or just too tired to fight back. The voice with the attitude of _Move or I’m going to crush you._

Wooyoung pities anyone who dares to say something back, because Yeosang despite his calm personality is a goddamned storm when disturbed, with his sharp tongue and harsh words he can hurt people way more than any physical pain ever. And maybe Hongjoong doesn’t know that, but he isn’t stupid. The fashion designer slowly nods his head with understatement, distancing himself a little bit, then turning on his heels and disappearing into the crowd.

“You know that wasn’t necessary.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything? He was making you uncomfortable.”

“Well, I was already uncomfortable before this.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you later.” And he hopes that it will happen later. 

The gallery is divided into five smaller spaces, each having its theme with its characteristic colors and atmosphere. _Atlantis_ is different shades of blues and violets mixed carefully and Wooyoung describes it as the pain one would feel when pressing down hard on a still healing bruise. _Spring_ is all emerald and lime with strokes of poppies, feeling like biting into a lemon on a warm, sunny afternoon. _Layla_ dances around with her cream and rosewood colored dress across the room. _It’s the sensation when our bodies touch in the early morning when you’re still warm and soft against my skin,_ he whispers into Yeosang’s ear before leaving for the next one.

_Dawn_ is calm hues of grey, swirling together endlessly, fogging Wooyoung’s sight for a few seconds. Clouds of silver and smoke, ash and dust covering everything into shadows. The familiar feeling of uneasiness is rising fast, making him slightly shake.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, I mean not too much.”

“How does it feel?”

“Like suffocating.”

Entering the last section, the younger feels like throwing up immediately after coming in contact with the colors. _Pain_ is little spots of sangria red on lavender and lilac with ebony black on the edges. Dried blood on hard mahogany. Bone white lines on the surface. This is not okay. This is definitely not okay.

“It must hurt,” Yeosang says quietly, standing still next to Wooyoung and looking around the place. He is good at reading him.

“A lot.”

The silence is engulfing them gradually, making the air colder than it was before. 

At the very back of the room, the wall is covered with a huge canvas, pulling people towards itself. Wooyoung and Yeosang stand before it, the younger gulping down his emotions which want to escape his body, linking his hands together with the other and squeezing it tightly. He is absorbing every pigment, trying to name them, but coming up with nothing touchable.

“It looks like -”

“What does it look like?”

They stood in front of the painting for so long that the room became empty. Wooyoung was so deep in his analysis that he didn’t see the other person standing next to them and by the tug on his hand, he knows that Yeosang didn’t see him either.

“I’m sorry, you were standing so purposefully here, like trying to solve a mystery and I got quite curious about it and I just heard you trying to describe it, that’s why I asked.”

“And why would you be interested to know how I feel about it?” Too harsh, but still, the smile stays on the stranger’s lips.

“Because every artist likes to know how their work affects the people who look at them. If not all of them, I surely do.”

_Please tell me again the reason why. Who hurt you this bad?_

The man standing next to them is an open book. The rawness of his face, the small light in his eyes, his calm aura.

Breathe. In and out, slowly. 

Wooyoung looks back at the painting. Three stripes of punch, grape, and graphite combined by water, sliced horizontally with wide white, its edges glowing dark red like smeared lipstick.

“It looks like an open wound.” Again, too harsh.

But this time the smile vanishes, his features harden, casting shadows over his face. 

“It hurts, right?”

_It’s always about asking the right questions_ , he thinks while watching the stranger’s eyes overflow with tears. He gave up the facade. Heavy breathing, followed by the slow shaking of shoulders, small whimpers escaping through clenched lips. The white flag on the top. Surrender. _I give up. I’m tired. Please save me._

“I didn’t want to make you cry, I apologize.”

“How? H-How did you know?” he whispers while wiping away his tears fast.

“Well, it’s painted all over it. Like the bone’s whiteness is peeking out, the raw red color of the flesh, and you gave the title of _Pain_ to this whole section. Of course, it hurts like one. This entire place is pulsating like the blood in your veins,” Wooyoung looks around again, wincing at the sharp discomfort the covered walls are emitting.

Then he turns back to look at the stranger's face with sadness when suddenly Yeosang jerks his hand out of his, making him aware of his mistake. 

_Fuck._

Trying to meet the older’s gaze is impossible after that. He retreated into his shell, shutting Wooyoung out completely. He sighs and looks back at the artist who is still unable to stop the silent tears from running.

“Your art is really beautiful, but it hurts terribly. Please promise me that you will take better care of yourself,” he says with a small smile in the corner of his mouth, then turns around, and with his arm on Yeosang’s waist, they leave the building.

The way home is spent in silence. Not the awkward kind, but the heavy one. The one where the biggest problem is searching for the right words. Well, if Wooyoung would have said the right words, they would not be in this situation. He just really wanted to express the way those paintings made him feel and the artist was looking at him with so much eagerness in his eyes, that he had forgotten about Yeosang for a minute. Yeosang, who is sitting next to him on the bus, looking at the city starting to darken, instead of him. Their hands are still linked together.

“I’m sorry,” his voice is stable. _Learn to admit when you are at fault_. “His crying caught me totally off guard,” he adds knowing that the other could hear him.

“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at him for making you feel that way. He breaking down and crying before you was not a-”

“You can’t judge him. I also cry when I’m overwhelmed. Expressing pure emotions is hard when we grow up in a society that tells us that our feelings are a weakness. You should know about that way better than anyone else.”

“I’m not judging him for crying. I’m doing it because he couldn’t take your answer, which in this case was the truth he didn’t want to hear. He made you uncomfortable by asking about your perception, then broke down when you read him like an open book. I’m mad about the way he expressed those emotions and I’m also mad about the way I reacted. It was too sudden and too forward but I couldn’t take it. I’m the one that should be sorry, not you.”

Wooyoung wants to say sorry again for his mistake, but he can’t find the right words for it. Saying that they were both at fault when Yeosang clearly stated that what angered him was not his poor choice of words, but the other’s incompetence to deal with a harsh answer is not a smart idea. So he reassuringly hardens his grip on the older’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

That night they cuddle up together on the couch watching some old documentary about the Norwegian fjords. The low voice of the narrator and the gentle swinging of the waves in the background combined with the warm quietness coming from the city below was leisurely sewing a soft cocoon around them.

“I think that I should go back on Monday and apologize to him,” Yeosang says at some point when the foam on the top of the water surface is coating the rocks on the shore white.

“It’s your choice, baby. If you feel that it’s necessary then of course.”

“I just feel really bad for leaving him in that state. And I’m still mad at him for the way he acted but I also have no excuse for why I did it.”

“Go for it then,” Wooyoung whispers against his ear, hugging him closer to his chest. “I’m sure he will be quite surprised.”

“I just hope that he’s in a safe place now.”

⚬

The morning sun finds Wooyoung on the balcony drinking his lukewarm coffee and chit-chatting with his plants, praising their beauty, and thanking them for the joyfulness that they bring to his life. A small sign of gratitude. _You can’t take anything for granted,_ his mother used to say while they were collecting flowers and strawberries from the tiny garden next to their home. _It’s not enough to just water them. You have to talk to them too, give them love and cherish them. After that, the sun will take care of them when you can’t. Just remember that you can’t take anyone or anything for granted Wooyoung-ah and don’t make promises that you can’t keep._

Her death was inevitable. The sad soul being taken back, leaving an uncertain emptiness in her place. And Wooyoung detested his mother through his whole childhood. _See you in the morning, sweetheart,_ but she didn’t make it to the next morning. 

Just don’t make promises that you can’t keep. 

So Wooyoung doesn’t take anything for granted. He works hard for everything. To keep his job and more importantly, his relationship with Yeosang. And although sometimes he just knows that they are meant to be together, he is still scared for that moment when he will wake up alone. 

But today isn’t that day because Yeosang is still sound asleep in their bed, unaware of Wooyoung’s inner turmoil. And he is thankful for that because certain things are better left unspoken.

Behind what can someone hide when they don't have secrets? What is truly yours if you don’t have them?

Around noon, when his stomach starts protesting he decided to prepare something for lunch and also to wake the other up. 

While sleeping, Yeosang occupied his side of the bed, making the blankets tangled up at his feet, leaving his upper body uncovered, the tattoo on his back a stark contrast to the light bed sheets. He has Wooyoung’s favorite white peonies engraved into his skin.

It was a surprise gift for their 5th anniversary and he cried after seeing it. 

He carefully climbs over him and starts leaving feather-light kisses on every single flower, making Yeosang stir in his sleep. Wooyoung knows the rhythm of those fine dark lines with his eyes closed, just like a bad habit that can’t be shaken off easily. 

The remaining darker flowers from last time were still smiling bashfully at him, patiently waiting for their respective kisses and Wooyoung sucks on them lightly, enjoying the little pleased sounds coming from the other.

“Rise and shine, baby” he chuckles lightly while watching the muscles contract deliciously as Yeosang stretched. “Come on gorgeous, it’s already noon and we don’t have anything to eat, so get your fine ass out of the bed and help me make some lunch for us.”

⚬

“Can I ask about it?”

“What about it?”

“Would he be mad if he knew that you saw those paintings?”

“At Hongjoong? Probably. But I guess he would be more devastated than mad.”

“How so?”

“I think it’s that part of his past which he doesn’t like to talk about, and hyung just showed it to me without his approval.”

“So it’s a sensible topic.”

“Yeah, something really painful.”

_It felt like drowning._

“It looked like he was screaming for help, but nobody heard him,” he frowns at the familiar sensation crawling inside him. “I was looking at this person drowning in himself and all I could do was just to stare and fear my sanity.”

They are lying on the ground watching the slow dynamic of the small, grey clouds through the glass roof as the raindrops splashed against it. This May is rainier than ever. 

“It’s making you bothered.”

“No, it’s making me sad.”


	3. S: Feelings That You Never Expect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San has a hard time dealing with everything. Meeting Yeosang is one of them.

The fog is slowly giving up, but the sun is still hidden by the old Oak trees surrounding the place. The oppressive emptiness of the space gradually eases out by the babbling sound of the river behind the house and the chirping of the early birds, too tired to leave their nests. The small home enjoys the pale remains of the dark.

Mila is soundlessly napping on her cushion next to the door, tail swinging leisurely back and forth on the ground. The thunderstorm from last night scared her and unable to sleep she took shelter on San’s lap craving for soft and calming touches. And San gave it to her because he was also troubled, but not from the storm. His disturbance was a different kind, a kind that annoyed him pretty much and didn’t let him sleep at all last night. In fact, he couldn’t sleep without having those weird dreams since last Friday. 

He spent hours upon hours in his small studio, trying to paint his feelings out, but all it came out was just unnecessary messy pain. Those weren’t his, but they looked too familiar and dangerously ugly. 

The colors drying on the paper are making him irritated. Splotches of yellow, golden in the small rays of the sun intruding the tiny space. Hues of honey and butter swimming in the water droplets. Dots of red and lines of white. 

_“... open wound.”_

That ominous encounter at the gallery left him with too many unanswered questions and strong headaches. 

“ _It looks like an open wound.”_ The man said it so nonchalantly that at first San thought he was joking. _“It hurts, right?”_ But no, he wasn’t. He just flipped San’s entire being over and read him like it was the easiest thing to do, while he stood there and cried. 

He puts down the brush, breaking the silence in the room and waking up the kitten from her slumber. San wondered if his facade is gradually becoming too transparent, making people see right through it. Right through him just like the other did. It can’t be. No one made him cry when he asked about their perception of the different paintings in the exhibition. Maybe Hongjoong can see through him too, but that’s because they were friends long before things happened.

He closes his eyes and imagines himself back in the gallery, standing in front of the painting beside the two figures. It isn’t hard. He keeps remembering everything from that day clearly, dark hair, dark eyes, stares stuck between hard and lost. Hands linked together, they are looking at the art and trying to find something. 

_But what were they trying to find?_

San was at fault. That he knows. He interrupted their space without a word. He appeared somewhere he wasn’t expected and he knew that. Those brown eyes were haunting his dreams ever since. That cold, hard stare making him shiver and break a sweat at the same time. Those dark eyes that held something truly interesting and inexplicable, forcing San to visualize them almost every hour of the day. 

He did something that those eyes couldn’t forgive. But he couldn’t figure it out. He doesn’t remember saying anything offensive or hurtful. Was it because of him entering their space? 

_But people do that all the time._

Was it the question?

_But I was genuinely interested in the other’s opinion._

Was the way that it was asked?

_Maybe it was too sudden. Maybe he wasn’t prepared to be asked. Maybe he - oh!_

“Oh my goodness,” he exclaims loudly, laughter slicing through the room. How was he so naive to think that it could have been a higher emotion in those eyes other than pure possessiveness?

And he remembers all those times when someone looked at him like that. The power that he felt when he was at the receiving end of those kinds of stares was indescribable. _I’m getting something you can never have._

But this one is different. San doesn’t want to have the other. Those were not his intentions. He just wanted to know.

_Why did you want to know?_

Because no one looked at that painting for more than ten minutes. No one was having a hard time describing it. _I love the colors, such a lovely technique you are using,_ or _It is so vibrant and has such pretty colors._ In fact, no one was talking about their feelings. No, they just talked about the prettiness of the work. A pretty work, surrounded by other pretty works. _You are so talented._

They clearly misunderstood him. That was not his main idea. 

He wanted his work to be understood and appreciated. His talent to use pretty colors was meaningless. He wanted to make them feel the pain he had to suffer through, so those _pretty colors_ could be born. _Don’t praise me. Tell me that it hurts to look at them. Tell me that you feel like you were stabbed in the stomach and feel the blood rushing up in your throat. Tell me that you got the chills._

_“It hurts, right?”_

“Of course it fucking hurts!” 

The cup filled with dirtied water thrown against the wall is like lightning on a serene rainy day. It went as it came. Fast and leaving chaos after itself. 

Fine glass pieces are sparkling in the air when the light catches on them. Shards scattered unevenly across the ground, water dripping down the wall. The cat is nowhere to be seen. 

The water soaking into the wood is slowly making it look exactly the same shade as those dark eyes. And San wants to feel those eyes on himself again. He wants to look back into those eyes properly. He wants to be absorbed into them, to feel powerful again. The threat coming from them making him excited. 

And he wants to listen to the other one describe his every painting. To make him feel his own pain. 

_“Please take better care of yourself.”_

_He already knows the pain. He already knows that pain._

San wants to feel that power and hear those words again. He wants to be understood without having to say the words.

The power to be understood. Someone knowing his pain and the other one knowing that San had something that could never belong to him. 

**Hongjoong-hyung** : do you remember the couple from the exhibition I was talking about?

**San** : can’t stop thinking about them

**Hongjoong-hyung** : good cause after that encounter I don’t think anyone would forget them. also, I don’t know what he did or said but Yeosang wants to apologize

_But he already apologized right after._

Then he realizes who the other was talking about. Dark eyes. The shiver that goes down his spine leaves him trembling.

**Hongjoong-hyung** : talked to him yesterday, he asked for your number. do you want me to give it to him?

**San** : please do

⚬

The place that Yeosang choose is a small tea-house in a newly renovated industrial building with huge windows and wooden tables. The whiteness of the walls is making San distressed. The classical music filling the space amplifying his anxiety because only after arriving there does he realize that he doesn’t know the reason why the other wants to apologize. Was he wrong? Was he the one that misunderstood something?

He nervously tosses his cup of tea between his hands, looking around, and trying to catch those eyes.

His beverage is already cold when the legs of the chair on the other side of the table made a screechy sound alerting San of the new person in front of him.

San looks at him, at the sharpness of his face, the calmness in his eyes. The slow movement of his eyelids when he blinks, the small tug of a smile in the corner of his rosy lips. 

_I was clearly mistaken. That wasn’t jealousy._

“I know that we haven’t been formally introduced, but it’s nice to see you again,” he says while extending his hand. San still shocked by the presence of the other, shakes his hand, noting the pleasantly warm feeling of his skin, the chilling touch of the rings against his palm, and the fragility of his fingers. The tone of his voice is calm.

“Same,” his voice cracks midway and he’s more embarrassed than he should be. 

“Look, I know you know the reason why I wanted to meet you -”

“No. I don’t know because you see, I didn’t even hear your voice till this moment which means that we haven’t talked before. So I really don’t know why you want to apologize if we haven’t had an exchange of words.”

Yeosang stares at him with his mouth slightly open, very surprised, not even angry that he was abruptly interrupted. 

_Stop trying to read people._

Yeosang’s chuckle is flat first, then blossoms into a body-shaking laugh. San is still looking at him while his questions remain answered. These kinds of things shouldn’t be funny.

“I’m really sorry, that was not how I imagined this,” his voice still high, small giggles under his breath, but his expression more bitter than before.

_He is pitying me. No! You’re just imagining it again. Stop putting emotions where they don’t belong._

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you think that people should only apologize for their words?”

_Did you apologize for all the bad things that you have done to yourself?”_

“Of course not. They should also do it for their actions or for the lack of them.”

San is slowly getting more and more confused.

_I really don’t get it._

“San, I want to apologize for the way I acted around you at the exhibition. I got caught up in the way you were making Wooyoung feel and didn’t see you hurting. I’m really sorry about that.”

_He is apologizing for something that I never took into account._

“How did I make him feel?”

_That's too personal to ask, you -_

“You pushed his balance off, made his uneasiness more severe.”

“Uneasiness?”

“He feels too much and likes to attach his feelings to things that make him feel too much. Art makes him feel too much. Your art made him feel too much and it hurt him,” he leans back against his chair looking close to devastation. “Just imagine putting a person who’s afraid of heights on a roller coaster ride. You simply don’t do things like that. You don’t amplify things that hurt or scare.”

_I hurt both of them._

“I’m sorry if I come across as angry, that’s not my intention. I really want you to understand how deeply affected was Wooyoung by your work. You hurt someone precious to me and although you did it unintentionally, it still made me mad.” 

_He is apologizing for his own feelings. And look, you did nothing wrong to them._

San bows his head, unable to look at the other. Instead, he is looking at those thin fingers easily covering the small cup of tea. The rings look heavy around those nearly breakable bones. He wants to hold those hands again, to feel their touch against his skin.

_Snap out of it._

“Look, it’s okay. You should not apologize for your feelings,” he is still looking at the other’s hands when he remembers those eyes. He abruptly looks up, making contact with Yeosang, who is watching him intently. The same hard stare, the same shiver running down his spine. 

The setting sun is filling up the place with a warm glow, painting Yeosang in shades of light peach and shadows of stone-blue. San wants to touch him and maybe, just maybe kiss him. 

“I want to ask you something.”

“About what?”

“Which one of my paintings did you like the most?”

_Will you let me paint you?_

He carefully searches his face, looking for signs of disturbance. Yeosang tilts his head a little, his stare wandering somewhere far like people do when they are trying to remember something. 

“I think Layla was the most intriguing out of all.”

Layla was the only one after _him._ An exchange student from France, who probably has a happier life now. San hadn’t talked to her since last September.

She was sharp on the edges and soft on the inside. Determined stare and light smile. 

She loved San even though he was still a mess, gave him everything until he couldn’t take it. Suffocated him with the love he wasn’t used to, with the love that he never knew existed.

_He_ never showed San anything like that. What San used to call love were those tiny fragments of attention that _he_ threw occasionally at him, nothing more. 

He tried to love her, to show her affection, to make her happy, to cherish her. He just couldn’t do it properly. 

_“Is it so hard to smile at me once or twice?”_

She never shouted with him, never gave him the silent treatment, and never pressured him into anything. All she ever wanted was to have her feelings reciprocated. Layla never asked about _him_ and San knew that their relationship wasn’t going to last. She was never meant to stay, so she didn’t need to know about past traumas. 

All San has from her was the dress she had worn on the night they met. A pastel pink lace dress that she adored so much. That sole item being the origin of many paintings that he loved dearly, but couldn’t look at. 

_“You left it here. The dress.”_

_“It has memories that I don’t want to remember.”_

She knew when to let things go, that’s why their separation didn’t hurt. 

_“Ç'est la vie, San,”_ she said with a shrug after he apologized for the last time while they were waiting at the airport for her flight. 

The sudden warm touch of a hand startles him, heat spreading on his skin making San aware of his own cold ones. Yeosang stare is just a little bit concerned. 

“You’re okay?”

“No, it’s okay. I just got caught up in a memory.”

_And it hurt just a tiny bit._

“What kind of memory? Was it a bad one?”

_You are tearing me open._

“It was about Layla.”

“Oh, do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he answers then looks straight into the other’s eyes. Yeosang is smiling at him with just a hint of sadness.

_Please don’t pity me._

“Do you want to talk about your day?”

“Why?”

“Because you look like you want to talk about it.”

_Come on, use your words. Tell him._

“It was stressful,” he sighs and closes his eyes to not let the moment pressure him into oversharing. 

“It’s okay, you can let it go.”

_It’s okay. You can take a break._

And San just lets himself go. Sink into the feeling that embraces him. The sun on his skin, the soft piano tune coming from somewhere far, the hand on his, the other one on his face.

His eyes snap open so fast that he can see small sparks in the corner of his vision. Yeosang cupping his face in his palm and looking gently at him. But right before he can close his eyes again to enjoy the rare moment, the other pulls away quickly. 

“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. You just had the same look in your eyes as he and I had the sudden urge to comfort you.”

_He saw the other in you._

San is hit by a sudden realization like a cold shower. He stands up unexpectedly, ripping his hand out from under the warmth that now hurts a lot, and without saying a word he leaves. 

The tears in his eyes start to run quickly down his face when he hears Yeosang calling his name. He doesn’t turn around.

_Stop fuckin’ hurting yourself over daydreams._

⚬

The phone stops ringing as the car stops at the red light. Notifications of missed calls popping up on the screen. All of them from Yeosang. San could’ve shut it off, but he didn’t do it. He desperately wants to hear the ringing, to know the other realizes that he made a mistake. To know that the pressure of the quilt is heaving him down. 

_You made a mistake and I want it to hunt your dreams till you crawl back to me and ask for forgiveness._

The scarlet substance is slowly dripping down his hands, making a mess of his white shirt. The canvas in front of him is empty of color. The strong charcoal lines of those dark eyes mocking him.

“Please get out of my head. Please -”

But the image of Yeosang stays right there, burned behind his eyelids, with the afternoon colors, patterns of light and shadow painted across his faces, his thin and warm hands, the cold rings, and soft eyes. Those lips that are kissing someone else. 

He wants to rip the closest thing into pieces just to forget everything. The touch, the stare, the words.

_“You just had the same look in your eyes as him -”_

“Cut it out!” he shouts while tearing into his hair aggressively, leaving red paint on the side of his face. He wants his mind wiped out. To dismiss everything that happened in the last few days. 

But it is hard for him to erase the memories when his whole body is trembling to feel them again.

_Traitor._

When he opens his eyes again, the first dark shades of the sun are projecting his inner battle onto the white canvas, covering it with deep hatred and longing. For someone who doesn’t belong to him. For someone who probably never really cared.

“He should be still trying to call. That jerk. That fucking jerk,” he murmurs under his breath. Then arched his arm back, high above his head, and with a quick movement, he smears the paint on his hand across the drawing. 

Smudged charcoal shades. Violent red lines.

Above the blood stripes, the edges of Yeosang eyes fade, making the inside of them totally black.


	4. W: Those Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung is not happy how San handles the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he/his (in italics and capital H) pronouns mentioned in this chapter and in the previous one, refer to the same person

Wooyoung is anxious. Maybe annoyed than anxious, but still, more unhappy with everything that happened in the last days than ever. At first, he had to watch Yeosang desperately wanting to reach the other without result, then he had to look at him being troubled by the ugly outcome of the date. 

⚬

When Yeosang came back on Wednesday, he was on the edge of a breakdown. He looked at Wooyoung with probably the sourest expression ever and shook his head in failure.

“He asked me about my favorite painting,” he laments slowly like the words are burning his lips, making them difficult to move. Wooyoung's sharp breath is loud in the small bathroom. 

_That’s dangerous._

They are sitting in the tub, back to chest, reveling in the hot touch of the water against their tired muscles. Yeosang drawing circles gently on Wooyoung’s waist, while he shifts around to make his head comfortable on the other’s shoulder. 

“And? What did you tell him?”

“The easiest.”

He runs through all his memories until he finds it. The soft shades of peach, cream, and coral.

“Layla.”

Yeosang hums, making the sound echo in Wooyoung’s ear.

“It was not a good memory.”

“How so?”

“He was biting his lips, fumbling with his hands around his cup and never looking up. I think he was doing it unconsciously.”

His grip on Yeosang’s thigh hardens.

“He didn’t want to talk about it, so I asked him about his day. He looked so distressed to me.”

_That's caring._

“The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice was so identical to yours, that my first reaction was to hug him, but I couldn’t do it so I just gently cupped his face into my palm.”

_You pure, gentle soul._

“He was so startled.”

_Who wouldn’t be?_

“Then he closed his eyes again, trying to lean in again when I realized what I was doing and quickly pulled away.”

_He did what now?_

“I apologized, but he took his things and left without a word right after it. I tried calling after him and on the phone too, but he didn’t respond. I hurt him more than I imagined.”

_You just think that, but you didn’t hurt him the last time either._

“Did he cry this time too?”

“I didn’t see it.”

⚬

Wooyoung thinks that letting the topic drop is the best decision for them. He judged it wrong because Yeosang doesn’t move on. He constantly has the same bothered expression on his face, the majority of his time spent absentmindedly looking at things happening, without getting involved.

“Please stop thinking about it, you’re making me worried sick for you,” he says while gently touching Yeosang’s hand resting on the table between them. “Baby, you’ve been totally out of it for days now. I get that it worries you, but you don’t have to make yourself suffer.”

Yeosang isn’t looking at him. He hasn’t looked at him properly since.

“You made a mistake, but you apologized for it. If he doesn’t want to accept it, then that’s his problem and not yours. Although, I don’t know why he did that.”

What bothers Wooyoung the most, is that Yeosang didn’t even retreat into his space. This is a good thing to know, but it still makes him worried. The other is overthinking something, over which he doesn’t have the power. 

_What does he want from him? What does he want besides an apology?_

Yeosang is slowly chewing on his food without breaking the contact between their hands, but without looking at Wooyoung. 

_He’s too deep in to care for you._

But the moment Yeosang sits down in his armchair next to the window is when Wooyoung finally snaps.

_That fucking coward got into his head._

So he takes a drastic step and texts Hongjoong.

**Jung Wooyoung:** i need the address of that friend of yours, like NOW!

**Kim Hongjoong:** San’s? why?

**Jung Wooyoung:** none of your business

**Kim Hongjoong:** well you’re kind of making it into.

**Jung Wooyoung:** it wouldn’t be mine either if your friend wouldn’t have fucked it up!

After Hongjoong doesn’t respond to his last message Wooyoung is determined to call him, anxiety be damned, but just as he presses the call button someone knocks on the front door. While crossing the hallway he takes a glance in Yeosang’s direction.

_I’m going to tear that asshole into shreds!_

Hongjoong looks more confused than ever.

“What did he do?”

Wooyoung opens the door wider and makes a sign with his head for the other to enter. After closing it he gestures towards the space between the kitchen and the bedroom.

“Don’t enter, just look inside.”

The older stands still in the hallway, staring into Yeosang’s direction with his brows raised. 

“He’s been like that since Wednesday. Do you perhaps have any idea why your friend ghosted him for more than two days?”

“San doesn’t do things without a reason, maybe Yeosang is at fault this time too. And will you stop calling him my friend when you know his name?”

_The nerve of this fucking -_

“I’m not interested in his name and I would appreciate it if you didn’t jump to conclusions without knowing the whole story. My boyfriend is technically a living corpse since they met, Hongjoong!”

“What happened?”

“Yeosang comforted him by mistake.”

“How can you -”

“San reminded him of me,” the name cold on his lips. “Well, the look in his eyes to be exact.”

Hongjoong is staring at his feet, looking deep in his thoughts when suddenly his eyes widen and he curses loudly.

“That damned idiot. He’s doing it again. He’s projecting his feelings again.”

_You have to be kidding me, another one?_

“Give me his address, I’m not staying put while that jerk realizes what he has done.”

“Just don’t cause him pain,” he sighed tiredly.

“That is something I can’t guarantee.”

⚬

_This is going to cost a fortune,_ which is the first of Wooyoung’s thoughts when the car doesn’t slow down after they leave the city. Leaving the sparkling night atmosphere behind, the deserted highways leading them to his destination. 

The tires are loud in the silent night air, the car disappearing around the corner, and Wooyoung is left alone in the middle of nowhere. 

The pathway to the main entrance is short, but he takes his time admiring the lively vegetation. He can’t ignore the white peonies blooming next to the house or the small flower beds, neither the tall Oak trees. He is in total awe, going from plant to plant, scalding into the beauty of the garden, almost forgetting the rage boiling at the back of his mind.

“What are you doing here?”

Wooyoung turns on his heels and looks at San standing a few steps further. 

_He continues to catch me off guard._

“What do you want, Wooyoung?”

_How does he know it?_

“Did Hongjoong tell you that I was coming?”

“Did you honestly think that I would be, after knowing that you were on your way here?”

_Don’t get smart with me._

“How do you know my name?”

“Is that important now?”

“Just answer the damn question, San!” he snaps.

“Yeosang said it.”

Wooyoung is left speechless.

_They talked about me._

“Then explain it to me. Why did you leave him there without a word? Why didn’t you answer his calls?” his voice rising higher as he shouts the questions. “Look at me while I’m talking to you! Tell it to my face so that I can understand it! I want to understand it, San!”

His voice cracks at the end of the sentence, breath quickening. 

_Please don't let this be another mistake._

“Why won’t you answer me? Do you think that people will understand without talking to them?”

“You understood me,” San’s tone is calm like he expected every question thrown at him. “Back at the exhibition. You were the only one who knew, just by looking at my work, what I was feeling.”

_“It hurts, right?”_

He understood it because the feeling was familiar. He heard the screaming while wanting to save himself. 

“But that doesn’t mean the others will do too. And Yeosang wants to, but he can’t and you are making him question every single thing that happened.”

“He hurt me.”

_“He’s projecting his feelings …”_ Hongjoong voice chimes in his ear.

“How? Tell me cause I’m curious.”

_Please let me be wrong._

“Because he told me everything that happened and I don’t see where he did you wrong,” Wooyoung accuses him. 

“He ...”

The younger waits impatiently for San to choose his words, noting the short tremble in his hand.

“He mentioned you. He saw you while looking at me.”

_I know that and it’s his fault for slipping, but I can’t blame him for that._

“And what’s the problem with that?” Wooyoung is seriously getting tired of this back and forth they’ve been doing for minutes.

_Just please don’t let this conversation drift where I don’t want it to._

“Do you know how that made me feel?”

“Yeosang mentioned my name in front of you. Why do you have to feel any kind of way by that? And even if you feel something, that doesn’t mean it has to bother you.”

_Let’s stop this._

“Look, I’ll make it easier for you,” he breaths in quietly, “I know that you caught feelings for him.”

San’s shocked expression is what Wooyoung predicted. 

“Back then I told you to take care of yourself, not to develop feelings for him.”

And San snaps at him so fast that Wooyoung doesn’t even see it coming. 

“What’s that for you? They are my feelings.”

“Yeah, but it’s my boyfriend that suffers because of them, so cut it out, will you? You avoiding him without a proper reason is affecting our dynamic and I don’t want my relationship shaken up by a mere passerby’s sudden love.”

“I don’t love him.”

“Then why does it bother you if he looks at you while mentioning my name? Tell me San. Say it out loud so you can hear it too and realize what you are talking about!”

The sudden silence between them is welcomed by Wooyoung, his thoughts running miles per hour exhausting him. San stares at him with a stone-cold stare, remaining quiet. When Wooyoung is about to start talking again, he turns around and leaves him standing alone between the flowers.

He quickly follows him into the house, the dark hallways making him somehow claustrophobic. 

“Stop being a coward for god sake and talk to -”

It is like time has frozen over and Wooyoung can’t breathe anymore. He can’t breathe just like the first time he saw San’s paintings. 

There he is, standing in the doorway of what looked like a small studio, beige walls with open windows, and Yeosang’s portraits all over the place.

Sketches of his hands and eyes, unfinished oil and watercolor paintings of his face and upper body. It is like the real person standing in front of him and the walls being made out of mirrors, spreading his reflection into every corner of the room. Wooyoung doesn’t know if he should feel jealous or impressed by the small space being filled up with the gorgeous art of his beloved. 

San sees Yeosang through the filter of the evening sky, in shades of pastel violets and rose. His eyes the richest burnt umber that he had ever seen, his hands drawn in so much detail that they were almost touchable.

_If he becomes famous, these will become eternal._

“This is how he makes me feel and I don’t want to feel this anymore! But I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop his stares from hunting my every living second. I just can’t.”

_This is bad._

“Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“I want him to look at me again like that, but he won’t do it. He won’t do it like that again. I hurt you, that’s why he was looking at me with those eyes.”

San heaves a sigh. Wooyoung isn’t prepared for his next words.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

_You're suffering._

“That’s why you’re painting him all over again, so you can have him staring at you without me being hurt.”

San doesn’t blush. He bows his head low and waits for something to happen. 

_He is misreading the situation._

“I’m not mad at you for having feelings for him. I’m mad at you for avoiding him and leaving the situation hanging.”

“You aren’t?”

“Why should I? You are not the first one harboring this kind of feeling for him.”

_But I hope you’re the last._

The anger is slowly disappearing from Wooyoung’s sight. He wasn’t prepared for this. He expected the shouting and the accusations, but nothing more, not the rawness, the inexplicable empathy he feels towards the other.

“Anyway, you still have to explain things to him. I know that it will be uncomfortable, but he won’t accept it from me,” he can finally sympathize with the other. “You’ll have to look him in the eye and tell him directly.”

_I know that stare too well._

Rumors were circulating mainly about him being ill since the day he was born. He looked pretty sick to Wooyoung too. Skin too pale, bones too prominent, and his blue veins like vines between them. Dark hair and hard facial features. Like a living statue. One strong punch and he would crumble into dust. 

No one ever touched him. They didn’t even look in his way, because they feared him like the plague. _You don’t want him looking in you. You just simply don’t._ That’s what people said to him when he arrived on his first day of high-school and he just didn’t understand why he was judged like that. 

_“Why?”_

_“Dude, don’t look into his eyes. If looks could kill, anyone who has ever made eye contact with him would be six feet under right now.”_

But Wooyoung was taught to only believe what he could see. _Only what you can see with your eyes and touch with your hands is real. Believe half the things you see and none that you hear. Don’t let them manipulate you,_ his father used to say. 

So he didn’t believe anything without seeing it first. 

The first time the older looked at him happened by accident. Wooyoung was late for class and while skipping stair after stair he bumped into Yeosang who was coming from the other direction. Wooyoung lost his balance, his leg giving up under him, making his body fall backward. He never saw himself as a cliche, so instead of closing his eyes and preparing for the pain, he looked up right into the other’s eyes. Wide eyes and a horrified stare.

_Fuck …_

In the next second, he felt the other’s arm around his waist, pulling him against a firm chest. 

“Please be more careful,” his voice near Wooyoung’s ear, breath on his skin, chills down his spine. Yeosang left him before he could utter a word. 

Warm touch still tingling under his skin where the other touched him. His always cold hands now sparkling fire. 

_“If looks could kill …”_

The next time he found him in the school library and without a second thought he sat down in front of the other, on the opposite side of the table. And he just looked at him, wanting to see that cold stare. His eyes skidded across visible collarbones, neck veins, a jaw that would probably cut. Wooyoung’s eyes lifted higher and higher until he was met with those stormy pools of liquid ice, shiver shaking him down to the core.

“How can I help you?”

“You are already helping me.”

A raised brow, nothing more.

“Yeah? How so?”

“You’re looking at me. I wanted to see your eyes,” and if Wooyoung would have been more aware of himself, he would have been embarrassed. “They are gorgeous, fuck.” He wasn’t until Yeosang’s chuckled loudly, covering his eyes. 

“Don’t! I want to see them.”

“Why?” Yeosang was smiling, his voice a little lighter and his eyes still covered.

“Cause I’m getting all hot and bothered just by you looking at me like that.”

Wooyoung knows that he and San weren’t the only ones who were ready to give up everything just to have Yeosang look at them like they desired. _He_ was still a sore mark even after years. 

They stand in silence. San still looking at his feet and Wooyoung at a small sketch of Yeosang’s hand. The ring on his left hand was missing. San erased a promise. 

“I can’t.”

“You haven’t tried it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Please San, you need to. For the three of us.”

Wooyoung is openly pleading with him to do something about the situation. The other’s silence isn’t helping. 

_Don’t cry._

“Only if you let me paint him,” he says like he doesn’t have tons of painting about Yeosang already but before Wooyoung can intervene, he continues, “I want to cover his body with colors. In the shades that he makes me feel while looking at me. Let me have that moment and I’ll leave both of you alone forever.”

_“Let me kiss him once, that's all I’m asking you Wooyoung. Just once more.”_ Yeosang cried for days, but never again after that. 

“Do you think that I’m going to let you do it?”

“You’ll have to stop the bleeding somehow.”

Victims of emotional manipulation know the best how much empty words weigh. 

“You are pulling the right strings and I’m not happy about it,” the room becomes suddenly too cold for his liking. “Using our weakness as a reason for your pleasure is a dirty trick.”

First, you have to be the prey to know how to hunt after. 

_And how exactly is that not hurting me in the process?_

“Why are you asking for my permission? And why do you think that he will let -”

“Because you are standing in my way.” San looks at him for the first time since his confession. He smiles sadly at Wooyoung like his intentions aren’t obvious. 

_“Because you are standing in my way Wooyoung.” His_ stare was fierce though.

This was getting out of control. He is seriously too bitter and wounded by these people politely telling him to step aside so that they can have something that belongs to him. 

_Am I too easy to ignore? Is this what being useless feels like? Disposable._

He watched as the sun goes down behind the trees, illuminating the room into a hard orange color. He glanced at San once more, sighs defeated, and turns on his heels to face the dark hallway.

“I’m not standing in your way, San,” he sighs, “because that way doesn’t exist.”

⚬

The night air leaves purple and red bruises on his skin. Cold biting into his hand, his fingers turning white. The weather isn’t warming up at all, summer is going to be cold. 

The poorly lit street seems endless to Wooyoung. Not a single soul on them, the houses on the side in a deep slumber. 

_It’s too late._

With his head hanging low he can see the bright light from the corner of his eyes coming closer. The sound of an engine ringing in his ears, the noise made by the tires screeching on the ground too familiar. 

The same black car in the driveway stopping next to him, window already down.

“Get in.”

“Why did you come after me?” Wooyoung looks at him, watching the shades on his face change from marigold to indigo.

“Because I can take no for an answer and I owe him an explanation.” 

It is like they changed him completely. One moment he fights with all his power, demanding things left and right, and in the other, he sacrifices his emotional well-being, to minimize the damage he caused. 

⚬

When Wooyoung opens the door to the apartment he is met with silence. The lights shut down, nothing but the sound of the clock on the wall and a car door being shut aggressively somewhere in the distance, cold air creeping on his arm. He sees the balcony door wide open, leaving the blinds to their gentle waltz.

He turns his head towards San, who glances at him questioningly. 

“It’s okay,” he assures, “come in.”

Yeosang is absentmindedly watching the nightlife happening below without noticing Wooyoung. He approaches the other with light steps, puts one hand delicately on his shoulder, and with the other he links Yeosang’s right hand with his, tugging on it softly. 

The other looks up surprised but follows him diligently to the living room where San is, his smaller frame highlighted by the bright white coming through the windows. 

Yeosang’s first reaction is to engulf San in a tight embrace. Arms around his waist, face between neck and shoulders. San’s arms circle the older’s shoulder, standing on his tiptoes to bury his head into the crock of Yeosang’s neck, trembling.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” San blubbers. 

Whispers so quiet that Wooyoung barely hears them. Clinging into each other, holding so tightly that he doesn’t see where one starts and the other ends. He feels so out of place, that he turns around to leave them alone when San’s small whimper stops him.

“Stay,” he hesitates. “Please stay. Stay with us.”

They are both staring at him. 

“Come here, lovely,” Yeosang extends his hand, smiling softly at him.

_I've got him back._

Wooyoung burst into tears while running into his arms, hiding his face into his chest. The older kisses his head, tugging him closer by the shoulder. 

A curious tug on his shirt; San’s hand on Wooyoung’s waist is a lively spark of heat.


	5. Y: Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting San do what he wanted wasn't a great decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: blood, panic attack (they aren't written explicitly, but I thought that I should give you a heads-up)

Wooyoung’s arm is a pleasant weight on his waist, cold fingers like ice against his skin, and hot air hitting the back of his neck where his face is buried. The shadows on the wall are a sign that it’s already close to noon. Yeosang groans, pushing the hair back from his face while slowly turning on his back making Wooyoung’s arm shift lower on his body, nails scratching along his side. 

_“Stay with us.”_

He still feels the sadness deep down from when Wooyoung crashed into his arms last night, crying for the first time in months. He remembers the shaking of his shoulder and the small whimpers leaving his lips, the wet feeling of his shirt clinging to the skin, and his arms closing around his middle. 

He recalls the sudden calmness flooding him when he saw San in the middle of their living room fiddling with his fingers out of pure anxiety; the vivid feeling of strong arms hugging him closer, apologies whispered into his ear, and tears soaking his cheeks. He could finally breathe out after days of holding it in. 

After tugging the sheets to cover the younger’s body Yeosang leaves to make something for them to eat but stops in his tracks when he faces the empty guestroom, its door wide open. 

“Hey,” comes a small voice from behind. 

San is sitting on the kitchen counter, enjoying what looks like tea, a light smile in his direction without making the dimples appear. A small tug of the lips and tired eyes with dark circles under. 

_He probably cried after._

“You stayed.”

“After all the things that I did to the two of you, it would have been rude of me to leave without saying at least a thank you,” the edge of his voice dry.

Wooyoung wanted San to stay the night, he told them so after they broke the hug. 

_“I won’t let you go home in this state,”_ he said while wiping the other’s tears away. And San didn’t look like he wanted to protest against the idea. His fragile soul hanging onto his tired bones relentlessly. 

“You weren’t the only one at fault, San,” he states, “we were both wrong. You and I both. We both hurt Wooyoung.”

The look in the other’s eyes is challenging. 

“You by making me feel wrong about myself and me by hurting myself because of you,” he continues. 

“I think I hurt him in more ways than you can imagine.”

“That’s only because you think so. Did he tell you that he was hurt or did you just assume that?”

_“There exist only two things, Sang-ah. You and your perception of everything.”_

“He did not have to tell me because it was obvious.”

_Obvious like your suffering?_

Yeosang knows better than to voice his thoughts, so he shrugs carelessly and moves towards the stove to make coffee. After passing San’s figure his eyes catch a stack of freshly made pancakes next to the two steaming cups of coffee. He looks back at the other questioningly, but he can’t find his stare. San’s eyes are locked somewhere else. 

He turns back to give the younger some time.

Yeosang feels the light touch of a cold hand before he feels the pleasant shiver claw down his spine. Delicate fingers running over the place where the peonies are continuously blooming under his skin, tracing the petals tenderly and pressing down softly on sore spots. The moment his breath hitches San snaps out of his dazed state and took his hand back. 

“They are his favorites, right? He spent quite some time yesterday admiring them in the garden.”

It is the kind of question that doesn’t really need an answer. 

“I made breakfast because I was hungry. The coffee is for both of you.”

“How did you know?”

“The coffee?” he smiles, closing his eyes for a short second. “You drank black tea on our date and the only tea I found here was a half-empty box of Sencha.”

To put it simply, Yeosang is astonished by the way San remembers such small details and gestures. He didn’t know about Wooyoung’s favorite flowers until two years into their relationship when he accidentally brought him a bouquet for the anniversary.

“Can we sit outside? The weather is extremely nice and I haven’t seen the sun these days, only her shadow under the clouds.”

The rays of the sun are making shapeless shadows across the balcony, covering bodies in bright gold, warm dripping down their skin and through their bones, the surface hot under the touch of the palms. It is a surprisingly sunny afternoon, the sun staying in the sky even after the mild spring rain of the late grey morning. 

San is on his second cup of tea, while Yeosang’s coffee remains cold next to it. Wooyoung is still asleep with the bedsheets tangled up around him, unaware of the moment the other two share.

The light breeze running through the place ruffles their hair and cools their slightly heated cheeks.

“How did you meet him?” he asks with a tentative undertone.

_“You’re looking at me. I wanted to see your eyes.”_

“He was the first person who wanted to know me beyond the rumors,” Yeosang smiles at the memory of a teenage Wooyoung sitting across from him, face red from embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, that came out inappropriate,” he said after banging his head on the table, making people look up from their studies in the search of the commotion. Yeosang giggled softly, eyes still covered with a hand. 

He startled when his fingers are tugged on it to let the neon lights of the library through, making him look straight into the stranger’s eyes. A glum shade of grey with little to no life. Yeosang never felt such coldness coming from someone even though he grew up next to a monster. 

_“You will never be useful. Not for me, not for anyone else.“_

The flashback made him tremble, his childhood trauma trying to resurface from its cage, creeping into his conscience. 

“I’m sorry,” came the small voice, and the cold was gone immediately. 

_Please just don’t be heartless._

He reached out for the hand, intertwining their fingers and looking up at the other with determination in his eyes. The other looked just as surprised as him by the sudden touch.

“Why does it make you feel that way?”

“They are stunning. Give me actual chills. Such a pretty color, like a thunderstorm in its full beauty,” he gestured wildly with his hands.

“That’s such a unique way to describe it,” Yeosang was intrigued by the words. _It’s such a lovely shade of brown,_ his mother used to say it with a forced happy tone when he cried about how people bully him because of them. She probably never saw them as anything beautiful either. 

“Isn’t it? Colors can be so interesting when you give them a proper meaning. I don’t want to degrade them by defining each one with a single word. Don’t say that it’s red. Say that it’s the color of warmth when blood floods your face or it’s the color of the sky when the sun kisses the horizon. Hell, it could even be the feeling of someone scratching down your back during a hot make out. ”

The tremble that ran down through him was too sweet to ignore.

“And how would you describe the color of your own eyes?” 

“My eyes? Like silence after lightning.”

Deadly. Gorgeous chaos in the human form. Ripping people apart left and right.

“Rumors?”

“A person who doesn’t talk much and avoids crowds, always dressed in dark colors with a hard look in his eyes. It was inevitable that people would make up their own assumptions, hanging whatever tragic background story over my head.”

He hasn’t told the story in so long, that bringing it back to the present was making nostalgia sit on his shoulder, gently caressing his skin. Wooyoung sitting down across from him in that old school library was the turning point for his current self. 

Warm silence settles around them making the sound of approaching footsteps crystal clear. They both turn in the direction of Wooyoung when he opens the glass door, making his way towards them.

“Thanks for the food,” he beams at San while sitting down next to Yeosang, kissing his cheek happily. Then he looks at San, his expression unreadable for the older man. “I’ll let you do it.”

San looks at Wooyoung like he just slapped him across the face, eyes wide and cheek a shade or two darker. Yeosang is watching them with interest, unable to decipher the unusual spark between them. 

“He wants to paint you,” Wooyoung states matter-of-factly, taking his hand into his own, making Yeosang look at him questioningly. “Paint you as in covering your body in colors.”

A sharp tug on his hand is the only sign for him to be careful with his reaction. Wooyoung probably wouldn’t be doing that if it wouldn’t benefit them and he apparently needs Yeosang to cooperate with him. But still, to let someone paint him in that way is a step outside his comfort zone and he isn’t sure if he can take it, mainly because it is about a stranger. A stranger that holds too much power over them. 

“I wanted to paint your face and the part starting from your jaw to the collarbones,” San’s voice is smaller than ever. “But I’ll be more than happy if I could color your flowers instead.” Wooyoung’s grip on his hand hardens, his own shaking slightly. “Only if you let me, no pressure.”

There is a reason why those peonies don’t have colors. A reason that still aches sometimes when he isn’t careful, dull pain in the back of his mind that flares up when talked about. Having those flowers painted would probably feel like openly talking about a trauma that still haunts his everyday life, lurking in the shadowy corner of his conscience. 

That is definitely not what Wooyoung had in mind judging by the minor pain in his hand where his fingers are being crushed. He is restraining himself from opposing by biting down on his lower lip.

_What’s on your mind lovely?_

“Now?”

“Well, I guess the sooner, the better.”

_Maybe it’s hard for him too._

“I saw yesterday a shop down a few streets that sells art supplies, maybe I can go and buy some.”

“He said that if I let him paint you, he won’t bother us anymore.” 

Wooyoung is gently running his fingers through his hair, scratching the scalp occasionally drawing small stars at the corner of his vision. They are sprawled out on the living room couch, with Yeosang’s head on Wooyoung’s lap, waiting for San to come back.

_So that was the reason._

He hums, closing his eyes to enjoy the small moment when suddenly Wooyoung twists his hand harshly, yanking him up by the hair and kissing him hard on the mouth. He moans loudly at the pain, pulling himself up to sit on his lap, caging the younger between his tights. 

“You should do it properly, babe” he chuckles against Wooyoung’s lips then closes the distance between them, hands gripping hard on the younger’s shoulder while sensually rotating his hips up and down, making Wooyoung growl at the touch. 

“Yeah? And you are going to show me how?” teasing him, gripping Yeosang’s hips tightly, fingers sinking into the flesh and pulling him closer to his chest. “I missed you,” he says and buries his face in his shoulder. Yeosang lets a few moments for the frail quietness to soak in, savoring the cold beating against his body, then lifts Wooyoung’s head up with a finger under his chin and grins devilishly at him. 

Kissing Wooyoung like this, first gently, just barely touching his lips then firmly and biting into them to draw blood, is Yeosang’s favorite game to play; to make the younger man’s needy side break out from his closed shell. Teasing with light kisses to the corner of his mouth then aggressively bruising them, tinting his lips a darker shade. Literally making a mess out of him. And when his lips became swollen he lowers his head to kiss the younger’s neck tenderly, leaving small patches of dark on his skin, biting down hard on his collarbones making him whine out breathlessly and asking for more. He continues kissing his way across his shoulder tugging the shirt off to expose more of it. Then somehow Wooyoung’s hands find its way back into his hair, jerking Yeosang’s head up to kiss. Sweeping his tongue over, smirking and kissing him hard, teeth chattering. Leaving black splotches on his shoulder blades and neck, biting softly at the skin there.

But the sharp pain of Wooyoung fingers scratching down his back was painful, making him pull back and look at the younger with a shocked expression.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” 

“What are you -?” his expression changes from confused to panicked very quickly. “Dammit!” 

The thin lines across his tattoo stung pretty badly, he can feel their way down his entire back.

“Let me look at it,” Wooyoung turns him around, lifting his shirt up to his shoulder to examine the scars. “Fuck, they look bad,” his fingers tracing along the lines. Then he feels his lips kissing up down his back, Wooyoung’s tongue gently licking the scars, blowing cold air on the wet surface.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s okay, let them cool down,” Wooyoung warns as he tugs his shirt completely off, leaving Yeosang alone in the living room completely confused. 

He was sitting on their couch, shirtless, and high from the pleasure and guilt. They made San’s work harder by ruining the perfect canvas of his joy. 

“Did you two fight?!” San’s scandalized voice from the hallway cuts through his thoughts. 

They are facing each other, San’s hand full of a box of paint tubes and brushes while Wooyoung is holding a bag of ice in his. He approaches the younger one carefully, wiping the blood of his lips. Yeosang can see Wooyoung slowly unwind from the sudden contact, shoulders relaxing and almost dropping the bag from his hand. He shakes his head.

“Then why do you need that bag?”

The blush gradually recolors Wooyoung’s cheeks, hiding his face by looking at Yeosang as he stands at the other end of the hallway, arms hanging helplessly by his side. San follows his stare, eyes blowing open when he sees him. 

“What did you two do? For heaven’s sake, why are covered in blood?”

Yeosang’s first reaction is to cover his naked shoulder full of bites and Wooyoung’s bloody kisses, then to turn his head the other way. They look close to a pair of kids being caught red-handed. Flushed faces and eyes closed by shame. 

“Oh!" The moment when he realized it. "Oh, you sweet souls … ” San’s voice is like a gentle tap against his ears, making Yeosang look in his direction but not directly at him. “Why are you ashamed of it? It’s natural to express your love to the other in any way that’s possible.”

They stand like that for some time until San takes the bag of ice from Wooyoung and starts cleaning the dried blood off from his lips then from Yeosang’s shoulder and neck.

“It was for his back,” Wooyoung’s voice is so small, that Yeosang can barely hear it in the empty space. San raises an eyebrow at him, then with a cold and delicate hand turns him by the shoulder to expose the scratch marks on his back. “I’m sorry, we got carried away.” Like some newfound lovers, not having the power to exist without each other. Always touching, always having the other closer. 

“Pretty little things,” he whispers as he slowly traces the lines with the ice cube in his hand. Yeosang’s first reaction is to step away from the coldness of the ice and hands on his back; San’s grip is heavy on his waist. 

The first touch of the brush is oddly pleasant against his skin. The soft, cold texture of the paint running smoothly across unmarked white surfaces, the brush tickling him. San works in silence, humming a strange melody sometimes when he washes his brush out or put more paint on the palette. 

Wooyoung is sitting in front of him, playing with his fingers, and checking his expression from time to time just in case San does something out of the line. When he catches Yeosang staring at the bruises on his exposed shoulder, he tries to pull the shirt back, but Yeosang stops him by the wrist, pulling him closer, kissing his knuckles one by one while looking him into the eyes the whole time. 

_It’s okay, we are okay._

The faint smell of the acrylic paint floats around in the air, the gentle breeze coming from the balcony too weak to numb it. They sit there in silence, each of them very careful to not make a wrong move 

San’s hand becomes comfortable against his side, warming up where it touches his skin, fingers sinking into the empty spaces of his rib-cage. Yeosang sees Wooyoung looking at them from the corner of his eyes, watching as the fingers curved between the prominent rib-bones.

The strange sensation of dried paint on his body is making his skin crawl. He feels like his flowers are gradually wiped out, suffocated under the soft layers of the colors. The monster living in the dark corner of his mind is awake, happily munching on his fears.

_“You are always going to be useless.“_

He feels Wooyoung’s hand against his own ones but doesn’t react to it. He feels the tender touch of his fingers against his knuckles but doesn’t respond. He feels the hard grip on his chin but he doesn’t bother to look at him. 

He just wants to wash the paint away from his skin and let his flowers breathe out finally; to never let San touch him _like that_ again. 

“I think it’s done,” he says while gently blowing on the paint. “Let me take a picture of it. It came out way better than I expected.”

The sound of the camera flash is like breaking the surface of the water when coming up for air. A sudden wave washes over him, making Yeosang drop the act as he hugs himself without touching the last fresh layer of paint. He can feel the texture of it ripping up as his back curves inwards on the sides. 

“Breathe in,” Wooyoung’s voice is near his ear as he hugs him closer and gently running his fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. You are okay,” whispering softly. “It’s over.”

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt him?”

The tremble in his voice is heart-wrenching. 

“He is going to be okay, but I think you should leave now.” 

Yeosang watches as the dirty water goes down the drain while he sits on the edge of the tub with the towel around his shoulder. The scars on his back don’t hurt anymore, but he can still feel them as he moves around. He would rather feel them till the end of his life than having his tattoo painted over again. 

_“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let him touch them,”_ Wooyoung whispered in his ear as he washed the colors away. 

⚬

“How do they make you feel?” he asks the younger when he sees the picture taken by San on the table. They found it in the morning, lying on the hallway floor. 

“Like safety. The feeling of belonging to someone. When you know that at the end of the day you have someone to go home to.”


	6. S: Both of Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither of them was supposed to come back to San.

The image of Yeosang hugging himself tighter with his hands around his neck careful to not touch the paint and his frame shaking slightly is burned inside San’s mind; just like once his stare was. Hoping that they are fine is the only thing that he can do, after all, he made a promise of staying away, and even though it hurts to distance himself from them - while they are hurting - he never goes back on his words. 

He was selfish and wanted to be involved in _their_ life, but making them suffer continuously wasn’t his intention. San learned it the hard way when to start letting people go or getting away from them before getting hurt. Hanging on to toxic was never a good idea and he had his scars to prove it, his scars that are signs of a life he couldn’t handle. Still, they are there to show that he survived everything he was put through.

Since that ominous Saturday afternoon, which started perfectly with gentle touches, old memories, and warm feelings only to drown in confusion and unexpected pain, San was quite dazed out. The itching feeling of having to know what happened there with the three of them was eating his energy, making him tired without doing anything. 

Although he paints piece after piece with no break in-between, he still feels like being underwater the whole time; his senses muted to the outside world surrounding him, the silence swinging him from day to day without him even realizing it. But at one point this tender nothingness gave out, leaving his bones to crumble down while dropping him into unconsciousness. 

When San wakes up, the early morning’s light is warming up his skin, shades of oranges sparkling before his closed eyes, making him turn on his side face coming in contact with something wet and cold. The odd sensation stays for a minute or two until he realizes that he’s awake, lying somewhere uncomfortable and his back screaming at him in pain. He remembers turning around for a brush but nothing after that. The slight throb at the back of his head and elbows is constant. 

He fell when his mind and body shut down, leaving him on the floor unconscious for an unknown time. Opening his eyes he sees Mila soundlessly sleeping a few feet away, curled up like a snowball in the middle of a spot lightened by the sun. 

As he sits up he recognizes the familiar feeling of oil paint against his cheeks and hands; his previous painting lying on the floor next to him, the shapes all messed up from the fall. Lovely shades of cream and ivory with dots of punch and rosewood. Wooyoung’s favorite flowers are blooming freely on San’s canvas, curving around each other, brushing their petals together while being effortlessly beautiful. 

He painted them by thinking about the other. About how he smiled at San on the balcony, how easily he blushed when he caught them, how he stayed next to Yeosang the whole time. Mostly, how he hugged the other close to himself. To San that was almost unconditional love - like saying _I’m letting you go live your life and do your thing. You can do anything you want because, at the end of the day, you will still come back to me like you always do._

He sighs tiredly, looking around in the studio room over the huge amount of paintings he has done in the last weeks. The collection of paintings and drawings of Yeosang is extended by sketches of the tattoo in different colors - not one in black. Tens of small drawings scattered on the ground and pinned onto the walls. Wooyoung’s side profile from different angles. But the one he is most intoxicated with is a quick, unfinished drawing about the other when he looked at him across Yeosang’s shoulder. 

Stonehard stare with a hint of anger, looking for that millisecond when San would cross the line and ruin everything. Well, he did ruin it, but he doesn’t know how and when. Maybe it was from the start, - 

_“Did he tell you that he was hurt or did you just assume that?”_

How could he not assume that when almost everything aimed in that direction? The tremble in his shoulders, his nails cutting into the skin, and Wooyoung’s voice as he tells him to leave. If that wasn’t hurt then what was it? He lives in constant fear of ruining something important for the two of them.

The ticking sound of the clock is loud in the empty house. It is always loud because the house is always empty. _He_ left and nobody tried to fill the space - San couldn’t let anybody fill that void, not Layla, not anybody else. It’s a void and it needs to stay empty for that single reason because _he_ wasn’t going to come back; and even if _he_ did, _his_ presence would mean nothing at this point. 

⚬

The exam venue is full of tired students. At almost the end of the second semester, people were taking their last exams before getting back home for the summer. San stayed up all night for this one, his eyes now dropping every other minute while they waited for the professor to arrive. 

He sits alone in the first row, head resting on his intertwined hands, looking around the lecture hall aimlessly. His tired eyes don’t recognize the people around him; they are just blurred shapes of different vibrant colors. He almost closes his eyes when the chair next to him is pulled out, someone sitting down on his right side. 

San looks at the other man who probably isn’t much older. He is taller than him by a few inches, jet black hair with an undercut, a sharp jaw, and the biggest brown eyes San has ever seen. 

When he realizes that San was staring at him, he turns his head to him and winks once while lifting one end of his mouth. Being deadly tired, San doesn’t have the power to express any kind of reaction - he nods his head once and turns in the opposite direction ignoring the other. 

To be completely honest, San doesn’t know why he is friends with Hongjoong. His fancy background story, chaotic personality, and style in friends are on a whole different level. His whole self is the most dynamic aspect of San’s life if he thinks about it. Growing up as the only son of two rich layers has its advantages when it comes to doing the things one loves. When it comes to Hongjoong nothing is out of the ordinary. Top of his class in high-school, most appreciated and an outstanding student at university, while at it, put a tall and gorgeous boyfriend next to him to have the most power-couple cliche ever. 

San loves them dearly, that’s probably is the reason why he is stuck at their lavishing house party and not in his cozy apartment, cuddled up in his favorite blankets and drinking tea while stargazing. He stands outside on the terrace, watching attentively the nightlife unfolding under him. They are so high that all he can hear is the pounding bass from inside as he watches the small lights of the city flowing towards their destination. The pounding bass and a pair of footsteps coming closer. 

“Are you going to ignore me this time too?”

San first sees his intertwined hands hanging loosely from the railing, fingers adored by so many rings that he loses count of them. Then he looks up at the stranger, eyes going wide when he recognizes the other man. They stare at each other intently without tearing their gaze off, until San feels his cheeks flush from the undivided attention he is getting from those eyes, making him lower his head. 

“You’re way prettier when you pay attention to me,” the other suddenly states, lifting San’s head with the hand under his chin. “Keep looking at me.”

San smiles sheepishly, lowering his gaze to the ground. He always gets attached too easily to people who show the slightest sign of affection. Being touch starved is a deadly weakness when you have an open heart. People used to call him easy and sometimes San could agree with them. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he whispers close to his ear, warm breath hitting San’s cold skin, chills flickering down his spine the moment he feels his arm snaking possessively around his waist. “Do you want to keep me company, baby?”

And San is a goner from the second the man chooses to rest his eyes on him the whole night, hand fitting heavenly over his hips. 

For someone like San, Seonghwa is easy to fall in love with. A subtle touch of a hand and he is already on his knees waiting for whatever the other would give or ask from him. Maybe he knows deep down that their relationship isn’t going to last but that doesn’t mean that he won’t try giving his best while they are together. 

Seonghwa loves him in his way, is what San says every time the other hurts him. He leaves him alone for days, then comes back without an apology; _loves_ him for another week then leaves again. San never asks him where he is going because Seonghwa always comes back to him. Back with empty promises of staying by his side for a long time. 

San clings to him tighter than ever. Kisses him deeper every time he leaves and gives him more when he asks; giving up on himself to make him stay. He thinks that if he sacrifices his time, energy, and love for Seonghwa the other would change his mind and stay. 

But Seonghwa becomes more distant, to the point that he doesn’t come back for weeks and San almost gives up waiting for him. He is at the edge of his patience when Seonghwa finally returns, looking tired and unquestionably sad, almost soulless. But he stays. Stays for a long time until he breaks San’s heart. 

_“I lost him. He’s not coming back to me,”_ he is drunk, crying on the floor of the kitchen with empty bottles around him. _“Why can’t I have him? Why can’t he love me instead?”_ he shouts weakly, hands tugging furiously at his hair as tears flow down his cheeks, unaware of San who looks at him with an expression broken by the unwanted realization that their relationship - if they ever called it that - comes permanently to its end. 

He slips and San has had enough. 

⚬

The peonies in the garden are prettier than before. Smiling and waving gently at him as he passes them, bowing their heads in gratitude as the wind touches them. Everything is still wet from the sudden spring shower, pearls of water glowing on their petals as they swim in the warm afternoon sun. San is glad that he didn’t give in to the urge of cutting them.

He desperately wanted so; many times in the last days he was close to get the garden scissor and just destroy them. Those flowers which remind him of them, of everything they have and everything he doesn’t. But after a very strong urge, he realized that they wouldn’t lose anything if he cut the flowers down, he on the other hand would suffer greatly. He’d lose the memories and the touches, the gentleness of their charm. They’d suffer, both him and the flowers. And right now, neither deserves that. 

The strong scent of lilacs is hurting his head. He should have cut them instead. Their height, soft purple color, and exquisite fragrance reminded him of Seonghwa. Strong and manipulative. Pretty on the outside, empty on the inside; a real walking nightmare. But they aren’t him and aren’t like him. People like him don’t deserve to be compared to flowers; and how ironic that said flower was Seonghwa’s favorite - maybe it still is. San planted it just for his pleasure and now it haunts him every day. Haunted and cursed just like his footsteps which San would hear as he was left alone for the thousandth time. The sharp sound of loneliness. 

⚬

Dark oranges and violets are painting the sky in a horrible shade of dead emptiness, the storm about to explode above the city while the thunders are tearing the twilight’s silence apart. San expected it for weeks now. The pressure is almost unbearable, suffocating him.

What he doesn’t expect however are the repeated knocks on the front door. Razor-sharp, strong beats in the stillness. His heartbeat quickens in anticipation, the feeling jumping from excitement and anxiety quickly, unable to settle on one. It could be anyone. Yeosang or Wooyoung, maybe Hongjoong to check on him or even the neighbor’s daughter bringing some Sunday sweets her mother usually makes for San. 

Opening the door to look straight into Seonghwa’s piercing eyes as the first lightning blows up the sky is a clear warning that San can’t ignore. His mind doesn’t - screaming at him to close the door while he haad time -, his body however stuck to the spot, leaving him vulnerable in front of the other. 

Seonghwa’s beauty is still unmatched. Fine edges and an intense stare. A wicked smile in the corner of his mouth and a glint of superiority in his eyes. Rotten personality hiding behind a sweet facade. 

He doesn’t look like a person who suffered. He wouldn’t look like this if he suffered. People can’t go through hell and not lose a limb or two. He is the same person, whole and unscathed. 

That casual grin was once burned into San’s sweetest dreams, months after their separations following him everywhere, setting an uncomfortable feeling around him; now it is just like every other smile. And San is convinced that Seonghwa still believes that he affects him, that’s why he speaks up before the other can open his mouth. 

“If I were interested in the reason for your presence I would ask,” he isn’t, “but I’m not.” _Don’t strike matches in a room that’s bound to burst in flames at a spark._ “So just come in because it’s going to rain and I’m not that heartless to let you walk miles in the storm,” he utters and turns on his heels, leaving the other alone.

“Congratulations, by the way, I saw that your debut was a huge success,” bittersweet voice creeping over his shoulder while he closes the door behind himself. “Have you finally manage to get yourself together and started living your life outside your walls?” 

After all this time his words are still painful to listen to. Seonghwa knows his power over him and takes great advantage of it. Emotionally manipulating San through their whole relationship was probably the easiest game for him, a hurtful glance here and there, some words spoken with indifference, and the guilt was already eating away San’s weak defense.

“If you want something, you know where the kitchen is,” he says over his shoulder, choosing to ignore Seonghwa’s words, leaving him dumbfounded in the hallway and disappearing into his studio. 

“You hurt me, sweetheart,” he chuckles, his voice almost inaudible from where San is standing. 

“Like you don’t deserve it,” he mutters while collecting the brushes, paint tubes, and papers from the ground as Mila paws gently at his hand when he bends down. 

Seonghwa’s steps come closer and louder, and San can already hear his quick-witted response. How his mocking tone is going to stab him in the chest, reigniting that dull pain inside. He expects words coated in venom, but he receives only a sharp intake of breath which makes him look back at the other in question - Seonghwa’s eyes are wild with bruised panic as he looks around. 

To San, having an entire studio filled with paintings and drawings of his latest obsession - because that is what they are -, is normal, maybe a little bit embarrassing, but still quite ordinary. So why is Seonghwa looking so in pain at the sight?

“How?”

“How what?” his voice just a little bit irritated by the sudden show of such vulnerable emotions. That’s not how he usually acted. Right now Seonghwa behaves just like he did years ago when San caught him spilling his heart out on their kitchen floor for a stranger. 

“How do you know them? Why - Why are all your drawings about them?” he accuses, expression still hurt. San watches him closely, unable to guess what he is talking about. Why would the man that emotionally tortured him for months suddenly crumble in front of a dozen portraits? “Why can you have him?” 

“Why can I - what? Who are you talking -”

_“You are not the first one harboring this kind of feeling for him.”_ Wooyoung’s voice rings clearly.

Reality sits heavily on his shoulders, finally catching him off guard as he collapses when he finally understands what the other is crying about. 

They both fell in love with the same man, the man whom neither of them can have. 

“Answer me!” he shouts as he too falls, shaking San’s shoulder hysterically. 

San in his spaced-out state looks at this perfect man losing control over memories way down in the past, making him crawl on his knees in front of him because of another. He can’t believe that someone so gentle as Yeosang could make someone as cruel as Seonghwa trembles from unrequited feelings. 

“I don’t have him either,” he snaps suddenly at the other, “and get yourself together, you’re acting like a lovesick idiot,” he says as he takes Seonghwa’s hands off his shoulder and cups his face between his hands. “I don’t have him and I’m not going to have him ever. You on the other hand could’ve had me forever, but you wanted him. Now, look at us all alone together, suffering because of the same person.”

Seonghwa’s eyes are red, burning from the unshed tears.

“You’re almost crying, why? Got your feelings hurt and can’t handle it? He’s not going to love us Seonghwa!” voice rising gradually, but he still can’t get himself to shout. “And you know why? Because he belongs to someone that neither you nor I can compare with, someone who can give him everything he wants and desires, someone who has been there for him way longer than us.” His throat is getting dry. “You can’t _have_ him because he’s not yours to have.”

He leaves the other on the floor to continue tidying up the place. Almost manages to do it without thinking about it too much when Seonghwa’s voice cuts through him.

“And what if Wooyoung knew about your sick infatuation with his boyfriend?” The cruelty is back in his voice but it still cracks at the end. San is left unimpressed. 

“He knows it,” he states nonchalantly, “and lets me do it because I don’t get myself involved.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Maybe I am, but I have a coping mechanism to get me over it while all you have is your tragic attempt to make me feel bad about something that you can’t have.”

They stare at each other, still, rooted to the place they are standing. 

“I’m going to say this to stop you from further unnecessary suffering. Get your act together,” he pleads. “I’m speaking from experience, it’s not worth it. Move on.”

⚬

If Seonghwa stayed the night, San doesn’t know it. He locked himself in his room after their small quarrel and spent the night there without a single thought about the other, the storm outside washing away all the accumulated uneasy feelings of the day. 

The empty coffee cup on the kitchen counter is the only thing left behind. San isn’t surprised. Seonghwa always leaves when things start to become inconvenient for him. When he doesn’t receive the things he asked for. When his feelings aren’t returned. When things just simply don’t go his way. 

_Who’s the pathetic one now?_

It’s noon when he finishes tidying up the studio. When all the canvases are gathered and arranged in one corner, the brushes all washed out and drying on the table, paint tubes collected in different boxes and the windows opened to air the place. 

“If only I could clear my head so easily like this,” he muses while gently running his fingers through the kitten’s fur, Mila purring at the touch. “You think so too, right?” he chuckles lightly. 

Although he did sleep last night, his eyes are slowly dropping shut, his head falling a few times. Uncertain knocks bring him out of his daydream. With the cat in his arms, he walks to the door thinking that maybe Seonghwa is back again. If that is the case, he will shut the door in his face without even listening first. 

Yeosang stands there in all his tired glory with the sun drowning half of his face in sweet marigold, making those gorgeous brown eyes shine even brighter. 

“I have to talk to you,” he says with determination, hands curling into fists on his side. “Can I come in?” He walks past San without waiting for an answer, stopping right after, in the middle of the hallway looking back at him questioningly. 

_He’s too anxious._

San shakes himself out of his thoughts when the cat jumps from his arms, making him flinch as she scratches the back of his hand. Yeosang is still staring at him without moving. San needs to take some time for himself to collect his thoughts before the other can throw his feelings out in the open. Why can’t he have an easier life?

“The studio is around the corner, make yourself comfortable while I make you coffee,” he says awkwardly as he passes him, not waiting to see if Yeosang follows his words or not. 

The joke’s on him because anxiety follows him too as he clumsily pours the coffee, burning his hands way too many times when he can’t stop them from shaking. 

_I just need to hear him out and then let him go. I’m too tired from breaking my own heart over people I can’t have._

What he sees in the room makes him curse under his breath. Yeosang is looking through his drawings and paintings that San made of him and Wooyoung. All of them. The muse of his sick obsession is surrounding himself with all the art San made from his sorrowful pleasure and daydreams. 

But before he can open his mouth to make his presence known Yeosang already knows he is there.

“I have to ask this question from you before anything else,” he says, stare glued to a sketch of his eyes drawn in violent shades of blue and red. “How do I make you feel?” he asks as he stands up facing San. 

“Well honestly I don’t think that it has anything to do with you,” he says, words coming out harsher than he wanted. He can’t do that to himself; he can’t afford the luxury of being open with someone who can potentially hurt him even more. Come to think of it, what will the other win if he knew about the mess he made out of himself just by thinking about certain things that involved the other? Is it really necessary to turn him inside out while still healing? Is he going to make him fall as he did with Seonghwa?

_Are you going to hurt me too?_

Because it is clear that Yeosang hurt the other, Seonghwa’s tears are the evidence for it and when it came to their relationship, Yeosang was at fault too. At this point it doesn’t matter if Wooyoung was in the picture or not, Yeosang hurting Seonghwa is a fact. But what their relationship was about, San doesn’t want to know. He just needs to get it over to finally be able to put the whole situation behind him. 

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to -”

“You make me go insane!” he exclaims, catching the other with the remaining of his words dead on his lips. “I can’t stop thinking about you! Hell, I can’t stop thinking about Wooyoung either.” Saying that probably disgusts the other. 

But there it is. His feelings out in the open for that one person who needs to know about them the least. 

“You make me feel in some kind of way that I can’t explain. I want to be with you, with you both, but especially with you. You’ve been on my mind since we met at the gallery and I can’t stop obsessing over you,” he chuckles ironically, “you live in every single minute of my day. I can draw you with closed eyes, that’s how much you got in my head. I can even draw your tattoo by now without looking at that stupid picture,” he continues to open himself more and more, the uncomfortable feeling of getting ridiculed for it can’t hold him back anymore. If Yeosang wants to know the truth, he will get the raw and ugly version of it. And at this point, it doesn’t matter.

“You make me feel like I can be loved again, you make me wish to believe in it again,” he smiles to himself when he remembers their intimate moment in the teahouse; how naively hopeful he got at the tender touch. “I feel like I can give up everything for you, take my heart out and let you do with it what you want as long as you love me.” _Love?_ “How cruel of you making me fall in love with you when I shouldn’t.”

How funny that not even a day passed since he told the same words to Seonghwa; that they shouldn’t fall in love with a man who they can’t have. And now he is blaming the said person for making those emotions come to life. 

When Yeosang opens his lips to speak again, the tone of his voice is mellow.

“Do you mind if we take a walk through that meadow behind the house? I want to properly acknowledge your feelings and share mine, but I don’t think this space is a good one to do it.”

Taken by surprise San can’t help but agree with him. The place is getting filled with unwanted sentiments that he has to get rid of as soon as possible. 

With the waves of the small hills on the horizon, they walk slowly next to each other in the tall grass filled with wildflowers. San stays far enough from him so that their hands won’t touch. He doesn’t need a reminder of that feeling either. 

“I’m want to be honest with you,” Yeosang finally breaks the silence between them. “You’ve captured my attention from the first time, but I can’t talk about it as a pleasant memory and you know it very well why. But then I made a mistake and confused you with Wooyoung for a second, which now I know it must have hurt pretty bad. I’m sorry for not realizing it sooner, it must have been so uncomfortable for you to be around us,” he stops for a second before continuing. “I adore you dearly and think about you almost every day, wondering if you are taking care of yourself or silently hurting. I know that Wooyoung feels the same way even if he doesn’t talk about it. You made us feel a lot of things, but I don’t know if I can call it love. I asked you how I make you feel because I want to be sure that we understood your feelings correctly.”

They walk in silence for a while and San expects that was all he had to say.

“If you remember what I told you last time, you can understand us when we didn’t want to assume things regarding your feelings.”

_At least they aren’t disgusted._

“I want to try it, but only if you want it too,” he says suddenly, coming to a halt, looking at San like he is going to share his sweetest secret with the other.

“Try what?” he asks as his heart is slowly going mad in his chest.

“I want to try falling in love with you.”


	7. W-S: Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all can agree that the first steps are hard to take.

Even though Wooyoung knows Yeosang will come back after talking with San - the name doesn’t leave a sour taste in his mouth anymore -, he starts to worry when the other isn’t home even by midnight. He could call him but they decided before Yeosang left to not do that. Wooyoung had to make San feel safe too, not pressure him with his constant check-ups - to give him space and the reassurance that he is not afraid of letting Yeosang spend time with him. Time and space are the most essential - and communication.

But how can they possibly involve San in the language they created for themselves? Would he stay long enough to be part of that too or would he leave when he realizes the strange tenderness and calmness that he got himself into? How comfortable would he get with soft touches instead of pretty words? Long stares instead of petty arguments? _Feeling instead of seeing?_ Being aware of everything but not saying a word about it?

Would he _give up_ on something dear to him for something just as dear as the other? Or he would criticize Wooyoung for doing it and leave them?

The tea gets cold between his hands but only because he isn’t used to drinking it. He found the half-empty box of green tea on the counter almost a week ago. The one San left behind - he avoided it for as long as he could, but his alone time was gradually becoming too long and he had to occupy himself while he waited. That and maybe drinking coffee before sleep wasn’t a good idea. He has to laugh at the thought of San having already so much influence on him. Two weeks ago he could shred him into pieces and now he is drinking the tea the other found somewhere buried deep in one of the kitchen cupboards. He leaves the cup on the counter and shuts the lights on his way to the bedroom. 

Wooyoung wakes up in the middle of the night with Yeosang’s arm heavily across his waist as he hugs him close to his chest, long legs tucked between his. Letting out a breath of relief, he links their hands on his stomach and goes back to sleep.

_You’re back._

Morning finds them tangled up under the sheets, the cold air biting at their exposed skin. Wooyoung opens his eyes to the gentle sound of raindrops against the glass - the sky looking more white than grey through the roof. Yeosang is still asleep next to him, warm breath against his shoulder as his lips softly touched his collarbones. The dark circles under his eyes are somehow lighter and the redness disappeared totally. 

_All you needed was to talk with him._

As he wants to sit up, Yeosang tightens his grip around him.

“Where are you going?” 

“Work?” he chuckles when the other buries his face further into the crook of his neck. “You don’t have to?”

The response is a low whine vibrating against his shoulder making him laugh out loud. 

“We can go on a date after if you want. We haven’t had those in ages,” he says, gently kissing Yeosang’s forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears, watching with amazement how his eyes widen slowly.

“We already made plans,” he admits and Wooyoung doesn’t know if the red on his cheeks is from sleep or just a tiny blush. He looks quite adorable.

“Oh, and am I invited, or do I have to entertain myself while you two bond?” he watches as his eyes get even bigger, an incredulous expression written all over his face - but he can’t help the tiny shadow of jealousy in his tone. 

Yeosang’s hands are warm on both sides of his face.

“Wooyoung. Lovely, I’m willing to drop this whole idea the moment you say so,” his voice stable and determined. “I’m not risking us ever again. Wooyoung, the minute you say stop, we stop.”

“What about San?” and even he was surprised by the question.

_I started caring too soon._

“Young-ah, this is about us and when I talk about us I mean you and me, nobody else. This is us willingly letting another person into our space, life, and relationship. I can’t refer to him as a stranger because he already knows too much, but I can’t call him a lover either because that has parts we haven’t touched yet. Though I know that he’s mature enough, so if we decide to break it off with him maybe it will hurt, but I guess he will live. It’s not just us making space for him to feel safe but it’s also about him giving us time to accommodate to the new situation.” 

He gently swipes his thumb across Wooyoung’s cheek, catching a single teardrop on its way down. 

“I love you. I know I don’t say it enough but I do,” smiling softly while catching another tear in the corner of his eyes. “I really, really love you,” and he kisses every single one running down his face.

Wooyoung needs that. The reassurance that he is still someone dear to him, someone beloved and precious. 

Growing up without hearing these reassuring words was hard. A dead mother couldn’t whisper them and a depressed father wouldn’t say them. He couldn’t even believe his ears when Yeosang first told him that making mistakes is okay. That he loved him even though his insecurities were eating him away at that time; when he was so self-aware that he even forgot about the other. Reassuring words. _You’re okay. You did well. I missed you. I’m happy that you are here with me. I love you._

After finding Yeosang, Wooyoung didn’t know how he survived until there but sometimes he still thinks about a life where he didn’t meet the other. He imagines a crumbling and crying soul underneath a hard facade he built for years. Would he still need those reassuring words or would he survive without them?

“Come back to me, Lovely,” a gentle whisper next to his ear pulls him back.

Yeosang smiles faintly at him, his hands still around his face. 

“I asked you when you will finish work today, because I agreed with San to meet up after we finish work,” Wooyoung searches his stare questioningly, “it’s an ordinary coffee date.”

“Around five I guess but I can earlier -”

“It’s okay, we will pick you up at five,” he nods, kissing him tenderly on the lips. 

⚬

Wooyoung opens the door of the bookshop to the intense smell of coffee and low chatter. Miya is serving an exhausted college student, who deep in her studying only looks up at her, throwing a quick smile and small thank you at her - then adjusts her glasses and goes back to furiously type on her laptop. When she turns back from the customer with the tray hugged to her chest, spotting Wooyoung at the entrance, her lips pull into a playful grin. 

“You got a gift,” she says, gesturing with her head in the direction of the counter. 

Wooyoung’s heart skips a beat when he sees the huge, white peony bouquet standing proudly on the top of the counter. 

“He was kind of adorable when I caught him leaving it outside on top of the mailbox,” she chuckles, patting him on the shoulder as he stands frozen, not quite believing the sight. “There’s a note too in it,” whispering into his ear. 

He crosses the distance with quick steps and gently snatches the note from between the flowers, petals tickling the back of his hand. 

_“It’s quite obvious that these are your favorites, so I just had to do it. I wanted to cut them down because they reminded me of you when it shouldn’t; but now, when (maybe) I have you, I don’t need them so I’m giving them to you. I adore them, but you already mean more to me than they could ever. “_

Wooyoung can’t help the blush spreading across his face as his heartbeat gets faster. San’s handwriting is clear and easily readable. The sentences placed in the very middle of the card, its corners colored in a soft shade of violet, edges smudged. 

“You should call Yeosang and thank him.”

The answer is already on his lips when he realizes the situation he’s in and the people surrounding him. If he tells her that he got the flowers from someone else she may question it, but would not be bothered to know more. But she would definitely ask how he knew that Yeosang wasn’t the one sending them. 

_Because these things don’t matter to him._

**Wooyoung:** send me his number

**My Love:** why?

**Wooyoung:** I want to thank him for something

Around noon, when the only one in the shop is an older woman calmly chatting with someone on the phone, leaving the pages of her book in an uncertain dance between themselves, Wooyoung excuses himself and finally calls San. 

“Hello?” 

“They are beautiful, thank you for bringing them.”

A small silence stretches between them before San’s loud breath of relief.

“Thank god, I thought that it was maybe too much and too sudden. Hope that it didn’t put you in an uncomfortable position. Your colleague caught me right before I could left, so I just -”

“I love them. I absolutely love them.”

_I know that it's far from what you want to hear, but that's all I can give you for now._

The silence settles back. Wooyoung can hear the huge empty space behind San. 

“You make me happy,” San says quietly, Wooyoung almost misses it because of a car passing by. “You can’t even imagine how happy I am because of the two of you.”

He is hesitating, voice shaking slightly and Wooyoung is convinced that he was continuously looking for the right words to say, thinking that if he slips everything is over. 

_No, I really can’t imagine it._

“Wooyoung?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I know that you are not a big fan of mine and you probably have all the right reasons to dislike me,” he takes another pause, the struggle in his voice evident. “I’ll try my best to not hurt either of you. I -” he cuts himself off in the middle of the sentence as a nervous sigh escapes through his lips. 

_I know. It’s really overwhelming._

“San? Listen, it’ll be okay. We will figure it out together. It’s not just about me and Yeosang, it’s about you too. I know that it sounds like a cliche but we are in this together. Yeosang and I should also try our best to not hurt you, okay? We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, okay,” before he can end the call Wooyoung interrupts him.

“But you were right, they are my favorites.”

Miya clocks out around 4, leaving him with a knowing smirk and an empty shop. 

It is a slow day. Raining continuously as the sky stays the same old boring gray. The fresh scent of rain fills the place through the open glass door, the sound of drops hitting the roof surrounding him like a lullaby. 

Wooyoung rests his head between his hands - cold fingers against warm skin. He is close to falling asleep, being promised coffee after his shift, he even skipped his usual one at lunch. Now it is just a small fight with himself to stay awake and the rain doesn’t help. His eyes keep falling shut, head dropping to the side. 

Someone closes a door somewhere and all the noise becomes muted. A sigh escapes his lips as he finally lets his eyes fall shut completely.

There is something pleasantly heavy on his back. Wooyoung opens his eyes slowly while lifting his head from the counter. It is darker outside, the small fairy lights across the windows blinking playfully at him; besides those, only the small light bulbs hanging from the ceiling were on in the reading area. 

San and Yeosang are sitting silently around a smaller table, both of them occupied with a different book. Wooyoung watches as San leans closer to the other, showing something in the book, Yeosang smiling at him after reading it. He watches carefully the way they move around each other. When San says a soft sorry after bumping his leg against Yeosang. When Yeosang keeps his hands on the other ones as they touched while grabbing the same cup inattentively. 

How San chuckles at some point, unaware of Yeosang watching him tenderly. How Yeosang is so immersed in his reading that he doesn’t react when San tucks a lonely ink lock of hair behind his ear. 

Wooyoung is suddenly aware of the third cup on the table and guilt is rising in the back of his mind when he realizes that they are probably waiting for him. 

_How long have they been there?_

San is just turning a page when he all of a sudden looks in his direction, catching his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice a little bit louder, making Yeosang turn his head towards him then following his stare to look at Wooyoung. And he feels strange with both of them looking at him. Yeosang looking at him like that is still nerve-wracking, but at least he got used to it. Having San to look at him almost the same way is new. Wooyoung isn’t used to having other people stare at him like that and it makes him just a little bit self-conscious. 

Yeosang puts his book down, closing it completely. He stands up from his chair with a gracefulness that only he can do and walks towards Wooyoung. No one speaks, San and him watching attentively as he crosses the distance between them. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he says, lifting his head, kissing him on the mouth firmly. Moving his hands, fitting them around Wooyoung’s face as he pulls him closer, making Wooyoung stumble on his stool, his hand gripping hard around his waist while he finds his balance. Yeosang’s hands are warm against his skin, his breath becoming faster. With a small bite on his lower lip and a gentle push on his waist, Yeosang kisses him once more before he leans back to give him space.

“Missed me?” is Wooyoung’s first question while trying to catch his breath to calm his erratic heartbeat.

“Just a little, but San is such a lovely company that I can’t complain,” he smiles, looking back at the other.

Just like that Wooyoung is reminded that they aren’t alone. He slowly turns towards San, expecting things he doesn’t want to think out loud. But San looks at them with a genuine smile on his lips that says, _Do you think that I would be jealous of you for getting kissed by your lover? You missed him, so did he. And maybe someday you will kiss me like that too because of how much you have missed me, but now I’m satisfied with just watching the two of you._

“What time is it?” he asks while tugging the unfamiliar black leather jacket tighter around himself, eyes on the floor. 

“Close to 8,” San says as he takes their cups from the table, placing the empty ones in the sink and one in front of Wooyoung. 

“I’m sorry,” apologizing for a second time.

“Hey, it’s okay, it happens to anyone,” San reassures him, but keeps his hands to himself.

“Yeah I know, but we were supposed to talk and now the place is probably closed.“

“And who said that we can’t talk elsewhere?”

Wooyoung looks from one to the other helplessly. 

“There’s takeout and dessert in the backseat of the car, so get your stuff and let’s go home.”

⚬

If San is going to be a regular at their place, then they have to buy another chair in the kitchen. That and maybe a toothbrush too. Should he tell him that the next time he visits he should leave some spare clothes?

They are sitting on the living room floor with empty takeout boxes on the side and a half-eaten dark chocolate mousse cake in the middle. That is something they don’t do often. Eat with someone else and enjoy it too. 

Talking with San feels oddly calming. Laughing at how unbelievable his day was. How he got caught by Miya with the flowers. How someone bought one of his paintings for twice the original price but never showed up for it. How the waitress brought the wrong order for him when he was having lunch and how right after he left the restaurant some teenage girl out of clumsiness dumped a whole milkshake over his dress shirt. 

“I can’t believe this,” Wooyoung is clutching at his side, a smile splitting his face. 

“And,” San lifts a finger, indicating that the story isn’t over, “after I bought this new shirt and changed into it, the first car that passed by me before I could get to mine, it drenched me completely. I’m not lying, I was this close to crying. But, I got to the car and what do you think? I left my car keys inside the shop and I realized that after searching for minutes unsuccessfully; I had a small panic only to have the shop assistant run after me with them in her hand. Turns out I left my wallet there too, like a total idiot,” he finishes, head hanging low in embarrassment. 

Wooyoung is laughing so hard, tears start rolling down his face, hiccuping with small breaks of giggles. He hasn’t laughed so hard in weeks. 

The last time was when they tried backing and Yeosang accidentally pushed his arm while he was measuring the flour, making it spill over his hands and trousers. Wooyoung could see him with the apology ready on his lips and with a playful grin, he blew the flour from his hand straight into his face. The face he made was just absolutely hilarious and Wooyoung lost it at the first glance, doubled over the counter, laughing uncontrollably. After he calmed himself - giggling while trying to catch his breath, Yeosang had already washed his face and stood next to him, an amused smile on his lips. 

_We grew up too fast and with all the things that kept happening with us, we forgot how to play and smile without a care in the world._

Wooyoung is getting used to drinking tea when San is around. He needs to buy another box because their half-empty one is now empty.

San’s cup is already empty while Wooyoung still waiting for his own to cool down, although he is quite enjoying the warmth against his cold fingers.

“Well, since we were the ones suggesting this whole _thing,_ I’m going to start with the things we discussed between ourselves.”

They have talked about it for quite a long time before finally accepting the idea of San being part of their relationship. 

“I know that it’s going to sound like a cliche but communication is going to be the base of this whole situation,” they couldn’t find a better word for it, and calling it a _thing_ was too crude. “So if one of us feels uncomfortable, excluded, or in any other way that it might affect the situation, he has to speak up. If you’re jealous then tell the reason why, maybe it was something we did unintentionally but it still affected you, okay? And not just you,” he pointedly looks in San’s direction, “me and Wooyoung too. “

Wooyoung nods, tightening his cold hold on the cup. 

“I’m going to tell you when I don’t like something and that only happens when I feel comfortable around you. If I don’t know or like you then I won’t bother with it, chances are that I won’t even see you again. But I’m going to tell you what I don’t like only because I want you to know how I feel about it and the reason why it makes me feel like that. I hope that you will do the same, but I can’t guarantee that you won’t feel left out sometimes. You also have to understand that we’ve been together for almost ten years and sometimes we communicate without words, we know each other pretty well and see the slightest changes on the spot. You also have to know that we will never talk about you in that way, the only things we will communicate between ourselves are those that you can’t know about _yet._ “

Wooyoung is waiting for his expression to change, to suddenly stand up and storm out saying that he doesn’t need such a thing in his life. Deep down he wants the other to stay and fight for them, for this whole _situation._

And San stays. His expression calm as he listens to everything Yeosang says, nodding his head in understatement. He looks at Wooyoung once, a timid smile in the corner of his mouth then turns his attention back to the other. 

“One last thing. The space between the kitchen and the bedroom,” he gestures vaguely in the direction,” is mine. I want you to stay away from it even if I’m not there. When I’m in there just leave me alone until I come out. That’s my personal space and I would like you to not touch it without permission.”

San looks like he wants to ask something but decided to keep it to himself, so he turns his head towards him, his eyebrow raised high.

“I think that you have been through quite a lot of things and you know how being hurt feels like, so as long as you don’t make me feel unwanted I have nothing else to add.”

San nods, his stare on the empty cup between his hands. Is he searching for the perfect words to say or is he just trying to understand the words said out loud? The silence stretches and the familiar feeling of anxiety is rising.

_You opened up and now all he is going to do is step in your open wounds._

They have messed up. This was never going to work. 

“San?” Yeosang’s voice is extremely quiet. 

“I will work hard on loving both of you.”

⚬

He wakes up earlier just to make breakfast for them. 

The morning sky is the clearest he has seen in days. Shades of light orange highlighting the small clouds that are hiding the still sleeping sun. Barefoot on the cold ground, tiptoeing to reach the higher shelf for the coffee. A sad smile while looking at the empty tea box folded neatly on the counter. Chills running down his arms as the wind kisses him through the open window. All these small things make his morning more lively. 

San is washing the cups from last night when he hears the sound of steps coming closer. He doesn’t lift his gaze but he can feel the pair of eyes staring at him, then just a bare touch of a hand smoothing across his back and settling on his hip. 

“I told you don’t have to do it,” Yeosang’s voice is close to his ear, warm breath against his neck. It comes automatically for San to lean back against him, eyes closed for a minute, loving the feeling of having someone so close for the first time in a while. 

“I just wanted to see you before you leave for work,”

Yeosang’s arms are around him, hugging him close to his chest. He can feel his lips barely touching his neck.

Is this another moment when he is getting mistaken for the other? 

“You know that I’m not Wooyoung, right?”

“I know,” he buries his face in the crook of San’s neck, “I know because I left him still asleep in bed. I know because he was between my arms the whole night, but now you are the one here and it feels different.”

“How?”

“Because you are you and you’re not so fragile.” 

And they stay like this for a while. Warm water filling up the cup, overflowing and running down his hands. Arms tight around his waist, finger drawing circles on his shirt. Lips against his neck, almost touching. 

_Is this what it should feel like?_

How could he mistake love for what Seonghwa had given him when what Yeosang is giving him isn’t yet love but already means so much more? 

“You’re going to burn your hands.”

The whistling sound of the coffee maker gets louder. The warmth surrounding him disappears and the water stops burning his hands. 

San watches him put the fire out, his hand covered with a kitchen towel as he moves it away. He leaves the cups on the counter, moving back to leave him enough space. His eyes immediately get stuck on the tattoo. Closing his eyes is ineffective when the image is already burned in his mind. 

“Will you tell me one day about them?” 

Yeosang knows exactly what he is referring to. 

“If you stay long enough, one day I will tell you everything."

It is bothering him enough to question it. The kind of bother that makes him extremely curious. 

“Are you two engaged?”

A gold band around his ring finger. Last night he saw it on Wooyoung’s hand too, so it isn’t hard to guess. 

“This?” Yeosang lifts the hand to his face, playing with the ring aimlessly. “Got them when we graduated high-school. A promise to stay together.”

“Why did you let me sleep for so long?”

Wooyoung stands in front of the kitchen, still half-asleep and barefoot, shirt slipping off his shoulders. 

“You practically slept through the whole afternoon yesterday. You are almost sleepwalking now too. And don’t tell me you’re not tired because that’s not real.”

“I just wanted to spend more time together with both of you.”

“Come here, lovely,” extending his arm towards him like he did last time, knowing that Wooyoung is always going to take his hand.

_Lovely._

He hugs him by the waist, running his fingers gently through his hair when Wooyoung sits down on his lap. 

“Hi, baby.”

“Hmm.”

This is something San never experienced with Seonghwa. The gentleness. The soft touches, half shrugs, and amused expressions. The little things. 

Wooyoung is watching him, palm laying on the table, his finger curling back like he is subtly inviting San to hold his hand. Yeosang follows their movements, chuckling lightly when San’s fingers touched the middle of Wooyoung’s palm cautiously then spreading till their palms are against each other, fingers around each other's wrist. 

San watches their intertwined hands, for a second not believing what is happening, only to lift his head and see Wooyoung's tiny grin hiding in the corner of his lips. He looks ethereal in the morning. Skin warm and soft from sleep. Heavy and tired eyes. Dark locks all around the place, the pattern of the pillow gently engraved into the side of his face. A daydream.

Yeosang leaves earlier than San imagined, leaving him alone with Wooyoung; unlike with Yeosang, San doesn’t know what to talk about with him. Is he fond of small talks or those things don’t impress him? Is he the kind of person who can stay silent for an unlimited amount of time without getting bored of it? Is he just uncomfortable around San or is it just too early in the morning to think about stuff to talk about?

Wooyoung stands up abruptly, stretching with his arms up high, back curving delicately. 

“I have to water the plants, do you want to help?”

Together, in total silence, they start watering the plants. San randomly asks for the names of the plants he finds alluring and Wooyoung immediately starts talking about what it is, how he got it, and how he takes care of them. His eyes lit up while talking about them. 

_“That’s how you know what people love when their eyes light up and can’t stop talking about it.”_

“Which one is Yeosang’s favorite?” he asks, expecting for those lights to explode while talking about the loves of his life. Instead, Wooyoung’s eyes shut down like San just told him that he stepped on a landmine. 

“Yeosang doesn’t have a favorite one. He’s quite,” he takes a pause searching for the right word,” _indifferent_ about them. He takes care of them, but I honestly think that he could live without them and I don’t blame him. Not everyone can love them. They can’t bring joy to everyone and that’s okay too."

The silence is stretching again.

"But you have to promise me that you won’t mention this in front of him. Don’t mention anything about these plants or flowers in general to him, it’s a sensitive topic.”

_The tattoo counts too?_

“So he never brought you flowers?” the question is out before he can stop it.

“Just once. For our anniversary,” a dry laugh escaping through his almost closed lips. “He brought white peonies without knowing that they are my favorites.”

_This is more than just a sensitive topic._

San hugs him tightly. 

“I will buy you flowers from now on.”

If Wooyoung’s arms are holding him closer and his skin is getting damp where he buries his face, San doesn’t mind it.


	8. Y: The Play of Strangers and Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone likes it when the past comes back. Yeosang doesn't like it either.

The situation is slightly uncomfortable and not how Yeosang wanted to continue his day after the early tender morning he shared with San and Wooyoung. He wants to close his eyes and imagine San’s soft smile, wants to hear that light chuckle again as their intertwined hands play with each other across the table - he wants to feel Wooyoung’s weight on him, hear his loud laugh as he buries his face into Yeosang’s shoulder. He can’t do it, not with those wild eyes looking at him without a trace of mercy in them, ready to punish him for everything he has ever done and everything he hasn’t.

Seonghwa looks the same, though a little bit thinner than the last time he saw him. The only difference from his last memory of the other is his hair, now a lighter shade of grey compared to the ebony black of the past. His expression closed and harsh, stance rigid, the shadows across his face dark and cruel. If Seonghwa is out for blood then Yeosang is in danger. 

_Wooyoung and San are too._

Yeosang is stuck on the last step of the stairway, his arm left mid-air as he reached for the door to exit the building when he saw the man leaning against what was probably his car, hands in the pockets of his dark trench coat, ankles crossed in front of each other, white skin stretching over the prominent bone a strong contrast to the clothes he is wearing. Wooyoung once said that “ _People are not afraid of the dark, they are afraid of what is in the dark because they can’t see it and they don't know. Seonghwa is like that. You don’t know why, but you’re afraid of him.”_ In Wooyoung’s eyes and Yeosang’s memory, Seonghwa is like the feeling of getting cut by a knife. Sudden and painful till it heals, a visible mark on the skin. 

Yeosang’s heartbeat is loud in his ears, his chest hurting from the fast pace of it. He can’t turn back because Seonghwa has already seen him, his gaze pinning him to the spot. Why is he back? What does he want this time from him? He sees the challenging lift of his brow, distorting his face into something Yeosang isn’t familiar with, because Seonghwa never looked at him like that, not on the last night that they’ve spent together. Not even when Yeosang told him that they should put a stop to _whatever_ they were doing because he was going back to Wooyoung and _“Honestly, you don’t mean that much to me anymore - actually, you never really did.”_

He has to go outside to face the other and not let him near Wooyoung. Or San. Yeosang has to solve this alone because Wooyoung had suffered way too much while getting involved with Seonghwa, and Yeosang can’t let that happen ever again. 

With an undetermined step, he pushes the door open, the protective bubble around him bursting to shards when it slams back to place as he stops in front of Seonghwa with only a few steps remaining empty between them. Yeosang looks him straight into the eyes with an uncertain kind of braveness. A shiver runs down his spine when Seonghwa speaks up first, leaving the words to die in his throat.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“And? Is it a good or bad thing?”

“I don’t know, let’s find out,” his half-grin a soft pressure on Yeosang’s unstable bravery. 

He is grateful for that small table between the two of them. The place filled with tired students, loud chatter from already hyperactive kids running around as they wait for their mother to buy the freshly baked goods for their lunch; Yeosang doesn’t like these kinds of mornings, but right now he is thankful for it as it makes the uncomfortable feeling around him lessen a bit. 

“Why did you come back, Seonghwa?”

“How did you know that I’ve been away?”

“I don’t know nor do I care about you being away. All I want to know is why you appeared in my life again?” 

“Because I never received a proper reason for why you broke things up with me.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“I want to know the reason, Yeosang. I’m not interested in anything else just in that one _good_ reason for why you ended things with me.”

⚬

Wooyoung is sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands on his thighs, fingers lightly intertwined, head hanging low as the dark locks hid his face. Yeosang saw it seconds after the truth was told - he saw how he tried to shut off his emotions, but his face betrayed him. He watched the younger's eyes become wide, fear washing over them before his head fell forward and that single tear leaving a perfectly round shape on the carpet. 

Yeosang stands next to the door, left hand still on the handle from when he shut it after pushing his mother forcefully out of the room. He can already see that after all of this is over she will apologize by saying that she only did it to protect him. 

When Wooyoung opens his lips again to speak, his voice is small and void of everything.

“You were right. It was a bad idea coming here,” he says, hands running through his hair, eyes blank. “Let’s go back.”

He pushes himself up, wiping the tear from his eyes. 

They leave without saying goodbye, the silence between them in the cab can be cut with a knife, and for the first time since they’ve started dating Wooyoung doesn’t hold his hand, leaving it uncomfortably empty. 

Later that day, when Yeosang hears Wooyoung’s muffled cries from the shower, he knows that he committed the worst mistake ever. That night he sleeps in the common room, the couch too small for his tall frame. His dreams are weird, making him wake up countless times in the middle of the night, shivering from the cold, only to hear Wooyoung’s restless cries through their closed door. 

Yeosang was never taught how to comfort someone who is crying, The only words he ever got when everything became suddenly too much were _“Leave him be, he will grow up and realize that crying won’t solve anything.”_ Only to grow up and learn that people didn’t cry to solve things. They cried when things became overwhelming. And he should be there for Wooyoung, but somehow the best thing he thinks he can do is stay away.

Their door is slightly open in the morning, the light coming through which is strange because Wooyoung never sleeps with the blinds open, saying that light always messes with his perception of time. Their room is empty and the silence in it too deep. Wooyoung left sometimes between his last nightmare and wake, leaving the telltale note on his desk.

_PLEASE GIVE ME SOME TIME. I NEED A BREAK TO THINK THIS THROUGH._

A very clear message of _leave me alone._ And Yeosang being the type of person who listens to what other people ask of him, leaves the other alone. 

They still sleep in the same room, but Wooyoung is always asleep when he gets back and still asleep when Yeosang leaves way too early in the morning. They make sure to not cross each other at the university, the local pub, or their regular coffee shop, the cozy bookshop around the corner of the campus library. 

Yeosang waits patiently because he always thought that if you leave people alone to solve their problems they would eventually come around after it was over. That’s how one week becomes a month, April turning into May and eventually, Wooyoung doesn’t come back. His bed is empty when Yeosang returns from a long study session and it remains empty through the night, until the morning when he leaves for his classes.

The younger one keeps going back for smaller things, but always when he isn’t around. 

At the end of May Yeosang knows that Wooyoung won’t return to him. It does hurt, but if that is the other’s decision then what else can he do?

It is almost closing time, the library empty in the dim light of the old lamps hanging from the ceiling. Yeosang finished his homework for tomorrow’s class, leaning back on his chair, trying hard not to stare at the person sitting in front of him on the other side of the table. He should have gone back at least one hour ago but the possibility of running into Wooyoung is making him sit still; he desperately wants to see the other although he is convinced that Wooyoung wants the exact opposite. The younger had the opportunity to stop and talk to him earlier today when they passed each other in the hallway, but he turned his head and walked past him like he was just a simple stranger and not the person he used to spend most of his days with for the last four years. So Yeosang wants to avoid having another painful meeting with him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

He keeps staring discreetly at the guy before him, at how the game of light and shadow dances across his face, eyes hidden behind dark slightly curly locks, totally immersed in his notes - so much that he even forgot his highlighter in mid-air. Then he suddenly looks up, straight into Yeosang’s eyes with a hint of curiosity in his stare, lips stretched into a small grin before going back to his notes. 

Yeosang feels the blush blooming fast on his cheeks, shame making his heart heavy.

_I should go._

He almost pushes his chair back, ready to leave when he feels the pressure against his leg going up and down at an extremely slow pace. 

Touch starved and lonely, the only thing Yeosang wants to do is to enjoy it to the fullest while it last without feeling too much guilt about it. When the stranger stops his foot against his knee, pushing his thighs open slowly Yeosang looks up quickly with wide eyes, shame eating at his desires. Huge, dark eyes look at him; Yeosang can fill them with mysteries of the universe and still have empty places left. 

There’s no tension between them and he still feels like making another bad decision. He breaks the staring by turning his head to the side, bringing his legs under himself so the other doesn’t reach him. The small, amused chuckle escaping from the stranger’s lips lights a pleasant warmth inside his chest.

He should leave for real, instead, he keeps watching how the guy collects his books and notes calmly, a sweet smile on his lips when he catches Yeosang staring helplessly again. The man leaves him there but not without looking back one last time, the corner of his mouth curving into a knowing smirk. He watches the other shut the door gently behind himself and disappearing in the next minute.

Yeosang sits there dumbfounded until something snaps in him, standing up abruptly and taking his bag from the ground before leaving with quick strides, hoping that _he_ is still waiting for him. 

Air gets stuck in his lungs when he finds him standing right next to the door, casually leaning against the wall, expression neutral until he notices Yeosang’s presence. In the harsh neon light of the hallway, this person is even more gorgeous than under the old, dull light of the reading room. Raising one eyebrow in a challenging way is all he does to have Yeosang drop his bag on the floor, hands tugging him closer to the other, their lips touching at the end of his frustration. 

They kiss for what feels like hours, lips firm against each other as breathless moans filling the space around them. A strong grip on his waist and a gentle tug on his hair is all Yeosang needs to give up control.

And it is hot. A warmth that he has missed for the last couple of weeks, now surrounds him, almost suffocating. He missed the feeling of being wanted. Touched. Kissed. 

If Wooyoung wants to end things, then he needs to find someone else to fill up the void inside of himself, or else the dark thoughts will come back again and his mother will find another reason to keep him chained up again as she did for so many years. Just the thought of it makes him nauseous and he has to step back to breathe properly, air finding its way to his lungs, eyes closed tight with a quick mantra on his mind to calm his heart. The cold hand against his cheek is soothing, his senses slowing down eventually as he presses his face into it. _It is going to be okay._

(Yeosang always associated his first meeting with Seonghwa with fireworks. A harsh, loud blow of light in the beginning and then watching as the gentle flow of sparks kept hanging on the sky for a few more seconds before disappearing. _Sound then just static noise._ )

Seonghwa is gone when he wakes up, his part of bed cool in the early morning. The note he leaves is simple and straightforward. 

_THERE’S COFFEE IN THE KITCHEN. LEAVE THE KEY UNDER THE MAT IF YOU DON’T WANT TO REPEAT WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT. IF YOU TAKE IT, LET’S MEET AGAIN IN THE LIBRARY TONIGHT._

Yeosang keeps re-reading the note, moving the key between his fingers, the cold touch pleasant. 

He dresses up quickly, drowning the coffee, leaving the note on the kitchen counter, keys in his pocket. If he changes his mind on the way he can simply give it back to Seonghwa and be done with the whole thing. 

Running into Wooyoung on the hallway of the campus dormitory makes the time spent with Seonghwa more real, the seriousness of the situation sinking in very fast, making Yeosang step back a little. He is convinced that Wooyoung will ignore him just like he did last time, so he stops and waits for the other to pass him; unfortunately, when the younger sees him, his expression turns sour, anger hardening the lines of his face. He is mad.

“Where have you been?” his voice sounds just a tiny bit tired - _like he spent the whole night crying again._

“Out with someone,” it is a half-lie. Seonghwa wasn’t just someone, he is the one who currently keeps the strings tight so Yeosang won’t collapse.

“Who?” he asks while raising one eyebrow, the edge of his voice rough. 

How does he explain that to the younger? 

“No one that you would know.”

“So this is how it’s going to be? We take a break and you suddenly find other people to hang around?” Wooyoung is irritated, still, Yeosang doesn’t see the problem with hanging around other people - thought probably not the way he does it with Seonghwa.

“Why does it bother you? You have other friends too and you don’t see me getting mad about it.”

“That’s different.”

_Is he going to break or is he going to break it?_

“How?”

“Because you don’t have _other friends_.”

He breaks it. The static noise in his ear is over as Wooyoung's words ring clear. _“You don’t have others.”_

_That’s right. I never had. You were the first and only one._

“And I can’t start making friends? Do you want me to be all alone throughout my whole life just because you think that it happened only after we broke up?”

“Oh, when did we break up? The last time I checked, we were only taking a break.”

The tension between them is rising and suddenly Yeosang wishes he was still at Seonghwa's place, between those cold grey sheets.

“ _You_ are the one taking a break while keeping me hanging somewhere where it’s comfortable for you, dragging me after yourself like some kind of rag doll, and honestly, I’m tired of your silence so if you have nothing to say then move on.”

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if you wouldn’t have been lying to my face for years.”

“I lied, that’s my fault. What do you want me to do? Go back in time and change it? Do you think I wouldn’t take the chance and lie to you for the second time? That thing is a part of me that you have to earn it and not just expect me to tell you because of the number of years that we’ve spent together!” he stops to catch his breath, but continues right after because he isn’t finished. “You wanted a break and I gave it to you without mending in your business or begging you to talk. You -”

“You didn’t come to me for wanting to talk!”

“That’s because you told me you need a break! I did exactly what you asked of me! Why are you so mad for not doing the opposite?! If you wanted me to talk then you shouldn’t have asked for a break! Make up your damn mind, once and for all!” Something snaps in him just like yesterday, but this one is different. While the latter was for finally getting something he desired, this one is for feeling threatened. “I wasn’t the one ignoring you. I wasn’t the one who left and didn’t come back for days. I wasn’t the one who turned his head to the other side.”

“No. You were just sitting patiently and waiting until I came back after solving my problem. You did nothing, absolutely nothing! You could’ve come to me if it would have bothered you _enough_!”

It is clear that they won’t solve anything like this. 

“Let’s end this here because we won’t solve anything by standing strong beside our own opinion. You are mad because I didn’t pressure you into talking when you wanted space and I was wrong for thinking that if you wanted something you would say it and not wait for me to guess what is on your mind. But you have to understand that all I did was act the way I was taught.”

“Learn to read between the fucking lines,” Wooyoung hisses between his teeth. His voice is colder than Seonghwa’s hands were last night. 

“Maybe try to say what you want without beating around the bush! Or want me to read your mind!”

“Why is it so hard for you? Why can’t you do things without being asked to do it?!” now he is shouting, but neither of them is aware of the commotion they make in the middle of the hallway, way too early for some people.

“Because I could never do what I wanted! I always had to do what my parents asked me! I simply don’t know what to do if you don’t tell me! Why is that hard for you to understand?! Asking for space to me means to leave you to your thoughts and not that I should try and beg for you to talk to me!”

“Then unlearn it for goodness’ sake!”

And maybe the horror on Wooyoung’s face after realizing the weight of the words he spoke should be satisfying, but Yeosang isn’t there for it.

“Then maybe try to find someone who knows what to do without being asked,” his voice small and dry, heart beating way too fast for his liking. He turns around and leaves Wooyoung crying in the middle of the hallway, without turning back when the other screams his name, begging him to stop. 

_How perfect that you can use your words now._

When Seonghwa opens the door with a towel around his waist, water dripping from his still wet hair, there is an annoyed look on his face until he sees Yeosang standing before him.

“Hi beautiful,” he says with lips pulled into a lazy smirk. “I missed your pretty face.”

It's a lie, but Yeosang plays his part well; he knows it is wrong, but he has to do something to release the image of a crying Wooyoung from his mind. 

“Missed you too, gorgeous,” he says, then firmly pushes the other back into the apartment, lips already connecting as he shuts the door behind himself. 

After that, it is Yeosang’s turn to avoid staying at the dormitory and although he tries his best to avoid the other, somehow they still manage to cross paths, but just like last time, Wooyoung turns his head away again, fake smile on his lips as he continues the conversation with a girl Yeosang is used to see in one of his courses. 

_I’m trying my best and he just casually turns his head like it’s not a big deal._

Wooyoung almost looks just as caring as Seonghwa; and Seonghwa doesn't care. He doesn’t care where he is going home, to who he is going back. He is empty smiles, wicked grins, and sharp tugs, holding onto Yeosang but only when he knows that the other is staying. No questions. Just kisses across his shoulder blades, hands steady on his hips, marks engraved into his skin. 

He disappears sometimes, but never without leaving a note to Yeosang.

_I’LL BE BACK BY SUNDAY_

or

_CALL ME WHEN YOU SEE THIS_

or

_LEFT YOU SOME TAKEOUT IN THE FRIDGE, ‘LL BE BACK IN TWO DAYS_

And just like Seonghwa, Yeosang never asks where he has been, he only kisses him harder when Seonghwa returns, his chuckle against his lips becoming a slowly familiar sound.

The inevitable happens when he least expects it. Wooyoung sees them leaving the library after doing the last-minute revision for the exam held on the next day. They aren’t kissing. They aren’t even holding hands (they never do because their connection isn’t that deep). They are just walking side by side, talking about where they should order takeout after getting back at Seonghwa’s place. 

“You are making this hard for me,” he raises his voice after Yeosang just walks right past him, hands curling into Seonghwa’s shirt, making the other stop next to him. The older looks at him questioningly and when he sees his sour expression, turns in Wooyoung’s direction.

“Do you need anything?”

“Yeah, I would like my boyfriend back.”

“I can’t help you with -” he cuts himself off in the middle of the sentence, then looks back at Yeosang, who has his head lowered, trying hard to escape Wooyoung’s stare. “Do you want to stay?” he whispers, careful so Wooyoung can’t hear it, but loud enough for Yeosang to shake his head and tug him forward, away from the younger.

“Stop ignoring me! You told me to be straightforward. I’m here to talk to you, don’t fucking ignore me!” he shouts, voice breaking at the end. 

“I don't want to talk to you! I can’t even look at you right now!” he yells in Wooyoung’s direction, startling the other two. “Do you not think of others?! Do you even think before you act?! Honestly, Wooyoung, do you even care about me, or do you just want your conscience to be clean? Did you come to talk to me because you wanted to or because you just wanted to be the better person out of the two of us and take the first step cause _I can’t?_ And I have to be ready for whenever you want to talk because of what?!”

“You told me if I wanted something then I should do it. But you’re right. I did it because you would have never done it. Would you?” a faint smile coming onto his lips. 

It hurts because he is right, still, other things hurt too.

“I know that I’m right, you don’t have to say anything. I just want to talk. Figure out where we are standing and stuff; are we even together?” and it would have been okay if he stopped there, but Wooyoung also wants it to hurt. “Or is he your new boyfriend?”

“Leave him out of this!” he says pushing Seonghwa behind himself, the other stuck speechless - or maybe he just doesn’t want to be involved in their petty quarrel. 

“Oh, so you already care. Does he mean that much that you don’t want me to hurt him?”

“I said leave him out of it, this is between me and you! If you want to talk then let's talk, don’t need to involve anyone!”

Yeosang is angry, he can feel himself being filled with indescribable energy that wants to come out, body shaking with the rage and fear of hurting and getting hurt. He can also feel Seonghwa behind him getting troubled, his hand on the middle of Yeosang’s back where Wooyoung can’t see it, moving soothingly, fingers slightly hooking in the material of his shirt. To hold him back or keep him steady - that he doesn’t know, but the pressure is calming.

“Go talk to him,” he whispers, hand sliding down to the small of his back and pushing him gently forward in Wooyoung’s direction. “I’ll wait for you back at the apartment,” and Yeosang hears as he turns away from them, steps eventually fading away. 

They keep staring at each other, Yeosang’s thoughts running miles per hour, hands curling into fists. 

“What is he to you?” he asks, looking across Yeosang’s shoulder, probably watching Seonghwa’s disappearing silhouette. 

“We study together sometimes,” and it would have been enough, but lying is the cause of their fight, and Yeosang decides to not hide behind it again. “Then we go back to his place and fuck.”

_Too harsh._

Wooyoung is looking at him, expression blank and for the first time, it is hard to look at him.

“What? You wanted me to deny it? Look Wooyoung, we are in this situation because I lied to you, so I’m going, to be honest with you from now on even if it hurts.”

“Then I guess it won’t hurt you either for knowing that I didn’t kiss or fucked anyone else.”

“Why would that even hurt me?”

“Because even though you are the one why we are in this situation, I'm still the loyal one. And even though I was the one who wanted a break, you are the one getting lonely without me. And you know why?” his face distorting into a hurt expression. “Because you’re dependent on me. Because I’m the one who knows you inside-out and still wants to be with you. Because I love you!”

Wooyoung’s lips turn into a sad smile, but no sign of pity in his expression. 

“Does he love you?” he asks like the answer isn’t already obvious. “He doesn’t and that’s okay because you don’t love him either. If you love him you would have gone back with him without sparing me even a minute of your time. You are just afraid of being left alone.”

_“You don’t have others …”_

(The last time Yeosang cried was when his mother left him alone in one of her smaller studios filled to the brim with flowers. Flowers of all kinds. Flowers with strong scents. He was too small to reach the window and too small to reach the handle of the door. He was suffocating and the only thing he could do was cry. Sit in the middle of the room and wail without stopping. His throat hurt but he kept shouting, crying out of pain and fear. He doesn’t remember much, he lost consciousness after the young woman who was taking care of him opened the door, her face a mixture of pity and sadness.)

Now he is crying too. The image of Wooyoung standing in front of him getting blurrier, tears escaping when he shut his eyes, the wetness on his face embarrassing. He doesn’t open his eyes when he feels Wooyoung’s cold hand against his face.

“It’s going to be okay. Come back to me when you are ready, I’ll wait for you.”

⚬

Seonghwa is patiently waiting for the reason to be told. Legs crossed, expression stuck in indifference, his cup of coffee halfway empty. 

“Come on sweetheart, it can’t be that hard.”

“Why do you want to know so badly? Wasn’t me saying _you don’t matter anymore_ a clear reason?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I knew from the start that what we had wasn’t something important to you. I just want to know why you left me so suddenly if I didn’t matter from the first minute? What have I done to change your mind? Was me falling for you such a bad thing?”

Yeosang remembers it like it happened yesterday. How Seonghwa leaned over him, arms caging him to the bed, sweat dripping down his face and his breath uneven. How he held Yeosang’s face between his hands, their lips touching in a very tender way. He buried his face into the crook Yeosang’s neck, blowing hot air into his heated, damp skin.

_“I love you,”_ he said, lips moving lazily against his skin, leaving phantom kisses on their way.

Yeosang remembers the sadness too, washing over him and making him nauseous, so hard that his eyes swelled with tears at Seonghwa’s words.

“You don’t have to say it back right now, just let me know when you feel the same way,” his voice tired and hoarse, panting slightly, smile not quite reaching. 

Yeosang kept crying even after Seonghwa cleaned them up, tucking himself into his side, head resting on his chest. 

“I couldn’t do that to you.”

“But you left me hanging on that silent promise because you knew that you were still in love with him and falling for me was just impossible for you. Was I there just to fill in for him?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well it’s just a little too late for that.”

That night, he gets back late. After leaving work he shuts his phone off, throwing it in the bottom of his bag before wandering around the streets.

When he gets back, the lights are off, the apartment submerged into the deep silence of the night. Yeosang finds Wooyoung and San sleeping next to each other, legs and arms tangled up. 

The dark marks around San’s neck and shoulder reigniting the feeling of loss and loneliness again.


	9. S: Deep Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strangers from your past shouldn't hurt you this bad.

San wakes at the sound of the front door shutting, Yeosang’s steps clear in the dead of the night, his shadow across the hallway walls a stark difference to the bright, almost white light of the moon shining through the roof of the apartment. The silence becomes too quiet again, making him fall back into that sweet unconsciousness from before. Someone kisses him on the forehead tenderly, fingers barely touching his cheeks. He smiles; well, at least he feels the small upward pull in the corner of his mouth. 

When he wakes up again, it is still dark and Yeosang is still not in bed with them. Lights remaining shut, doors closed. Wooyoung is tucked into his side, arm across his waist, tugging him closer, shirt hanging messily on his shoulder showing the fresh set of love bites across his collarbone and neck. He put his hands on his neck where his own marks are and he can still map out the shape of Wooyoung’s teeth on his skin. They got carried away and there’s a slight feeling of guilt in his heart for not waiting for Yeosang to arrive back, even though Wooyoung had reassured him that it’s okay. 

_“He has days like this.”_

_Is it one of those when you have to leave him alone?_

He pushes Wooyoung’s arms off his waist, bare feet cold on the ground as he starts to wander around, searching for Yeosang. He finds him on the balcony, eyes looking over the city but his gaze lost in the middle. 

San sits down next to him, snapping him out of his daze by the hand on his shoulder.

“Why are you out here alone, instead of sleeping with us?”

“I can’t shut my mind down,” he whispers because the window is open and they might wake Wooyoung up. He takes San’s hand, gently lifts it to his lips before kissing the knuckles. “And you? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I woke up and you were not there,” he says, tilting his body to the side a little, looking at Yeosang with a fond expression. A chilly wind passes through and he shudders at the cold air against his skin and at the way Yeosang’s fingers dance along his collarbones. 

“He likes to mark up what belongs to him,” he says, tracing the bites across the younger’s shoulder, grinning when a small whine escapes through San’s lips as he presses on lightly. “When we got together I couldn’t leave the room without covering it up,” he chuckles, hand moving on to playing with San’s hair, twisting a longer lock around his finger. “He loves them and it fills him with pride to know that you belong to him,” he says with a fond glint in his eyes. “I’m warning you, he will do it every single time when he sees them fading. Just tell him if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Yeosang looks away from him, expression painfully blank. And San feels the need to speak if he wants the other to stay with him, so he gently lays his head on Yeosang’s shoulder while slowly melting into the other. 

“But he didn’t like it when I wanted to do the same to him,” he huffs, “he was really hesitant in letting me touch him.”

“Yeah, he’s like that,” he says, aimlessly looking at the city lightening up on the horizon, small sparks of skyscrapers shining bright on the night sky. “He likes to be in control. I think that it's partially my fault that he doesn’t like to receive anything back because I always let him, I let him do everything he wanted and wants. He is really troubled when others want to do things for him.”

“Why would you say that it’s your fault?” he asks, suddenly uncomfortable that he isn’t looking into Yeosang’s eyes while talking. He lifts his head and turns to the other, “Why do you feel like that?”

“Because he always had to be in control since he was little. You know,” he takes a short breath, “his mother died when he was seven, leaving him with his grandmother and father, who over time became sick because of her absence and shut the world out.”

“Did he …?”

“No. He became depressed and emotionally unstable, leaving Wooyoung to his own choices and decisions at a very young age.”

_That’s why you gave him control over you because you know he would crumble if it’s taken away from him._

The lighthearted laugh brings him back, looking at Yeosang a tiny bit surprised. 

“You should have seen him the first time I wanted to blow him,” he says, catching San totally off guard. “He was flustered, refusing vehemently, telling me repeatedly that he was okay, that I don’t have to do anything for him until I told him,” and he leans closer purposefully, whispering in San’s ear, “that I wanted to _choke_ on it.”

San feels the heat of the blush creeping from Yeosang’s lips against his ears to his face, fingers curling into the material of Wooyoung’s shirt while Yeosang runs his hand slowly, up and down his naked thigh. He is finally getting the touch he was longing for so long. 

“I’m sorry, but,” and he cuts himself off because he doesn’t really know if it is actually something that he can ask for.

“But?”

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time. Can I … can I kiss you?”

Yeosang smiles at him before pulling him closer and kissing him gently on the lips. He kisses exactly how San has imagined. Slow, with a hint of possessiveness, his fingers twisting in his hair as San presses closer to him, hand on his thigh. But the longer they kiss the less gentle it becomes, Yeosang licking desperately into his mouth, lips sloppy against each other, his grip tight on San's body. His head becomes lighter, breath coming faster, heartbeat erratic under Yeosang’s touch. 

When they pull away, there’s a fine string of saliva connecting their lips and San gets mesmerized by the sight of a breathless Yeosang with swollen lips and sparkling eyes. 

“I could do this all day long,” he whispers against his lips, their mouths touching briefly before Yeosang hums and kisses him again like he has all the time in the world. Pulling him into his lap, hands firmly on his hips as he draws those irregular patterns across his hip bone, while San cups his face between his hands, thumb smoothing across under his eyes, their lips melting together. It’s sweet and San softens into the touch, sighing into the kiss when he feels the nails digging deeper into his skin, heat coiling in his stomach. 

“We should -”

“Yeah, we should.”

But instead of letting him go, Yeosang brings their lips together and kisses him again, groaning into his mouth when San slides his hands down his chest, toying with the hem of his shirt, fingers dancing dangerously close over his bare skin. He feels the warmth under his fingertips and it burns to keep away, so he slips them under the shirt and Yeosang moans at the cold touch against his stomach. 

“Sorry,” he giggles into the kiss, spreading his hands further and he loves how the muscles jump under the touch, then tighten and become prominent against his fingers. He might get high on this feeling. Of how easily the other opens under his touch. But that’s only until Yeosang’s hands don’t slide down and settle on the round curve of his ass, fingers biting into the soft flesh and he has to swallow down the whine that's wanting to escape through his lips. 

He’s turned on but not enough to not put a stop to this sweetly heated moment. 

“We should really,” he says and pulls away, leaning back after running his fingers through Yeosang’s ebony locks.

Yeosang pushes his head into the touch before nodding and lifting his grip. San stands up and pulls him up too before they head inside. 

Yeosang strips, clothes thrown haphazardly over the floor before he climbs into the bed, waking Wooyoung up from his sleep. 

“You’re back?” his voice thick with sleep as he opens his arms and waits till Yeosang settles between them.

“Yeah, now go back to sleep,” he whispers against his forehead, leaving a small kiss before reaching for San’s wrist and pulls his arms across his waist, their bodies close to one another. San kisses his shoulder blade, his hand warming up between their bodies as he finally falls back to sleep. 

There is still pretty dark outside when San wakes up, the skies more purple than blue and the air is chilling against his arm that’s not under the blanket. He will never get used to the breathtaking view that this apartment’s glass roof shares, to watch how the sky changes its colors.

He turns on his other side, facing the aching memory of Yeosang’s white peonies across the other’s back. How the arch of Yeosang’s back still lives vividly in his mind, the pain he caused was indescribable even to him. Will they ever share it with him? He slowly traces the feather-like lines along his back, fingers curling around the petals and across the leaves.

_How can something this beautiful cause you so much pain?_

There’s a sigh coming from the other end of the bed and he withdraws his hands immediately and stays silent. For a few seconds, there’s nothing until he can hear Yeosang’s tired voice.

“You look pretty with them,” San can hear the amusement in it. “Did you have fun?”

“Hmm, you should hear him. He makes the prettiest sounds when you touch him in the right places and melts like sugar if you kiss him hard enough,” there’s an amusing edge to Wooyoung’s voice and San feels the blush slowly heating up his face. He has always been too sensible and when yesterday Wooyoung pushed him against the kitchen counter accidentally while searching for something on his other side, he couldn’t help the whine that escaped through his lips. Wooyoung was confused only until he saw how flushed he was, lips stretching into a knowing grin as he caged him to the cold surface, hands steady on San’s hips. 

“I know.”

“You know?”

Wooyoung pushes himself on his elbows and San shuts his eyes close. 

“How do you know?” he sounds intrigued.

“He wasn’t sleeping when I got back. We sat outside and talked until he asked if he could kiss me. You should’ve seen him, with his shoulders all bruised and wearing _your_ shirt; the way he got turned on so fast, I would have kissed him even if he didn't ask for it.” 

San knew that the next time he would kiss him without asking for it. 

“What happened yesterday?” Wooyoung’s voice is cautious, tone soft like he doesn’t want to push Yeosang to answer the question. His next words make San’s heart skip a beat, his chest becoming painfully empty.

“ _Seonghwa_ is back.”

So he was right, they have really fallen for the same person. 

“Is he now? And how did he find you?” Wooyoung is definitely not happy with the answer. 

“He was waiting for me right outside, I didn’t even have the chance to ignore him.”

Seonghwa was here, so close to him again even after he told him to stay away. Did he know that San was also here? Does he care about him or did he come back just for Yeosang?

“What did he want?”

“A reason. To explain it to him why I left him.”

Seonghwa wasn’t lying when he said that Yeosang was the one leaving him. He really hurt him in ways that San can’t even imagine. To have Seonghwa cry is something that not everyone can do, to have him crawl on the ground while screaming his lungs out, eyes dry from crying is heart-shattering. Even though when he was there he couldn’t feel anything but hate for the other, now it makes him almost sad. 

“Is he serious? What is so hard to understand -”

“It’s because you didn’t love him like he wanted you to love him.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can actually think about them, eyes wide as he looks at Wooyoung’s shocked expression across Yeosang’s shoulder. It’s out. The only thing he wanted to keep as a secret it’s out and he can’t turn it back. 

He sits up, legs crossed, his hands linked together in his lap. He looks at them from under his lashes because he can’t take the attention he’s given. Wooyoung has a hand on Yeosang’s waist and looks at him with an uncertain fear in his eyes. Yeosang’s expression is something San can’t decipher. 

“He couldn’t understand why you’ve chosen Wooyoung over him after all the time that he’s been there for you. I think he never realized that you get what you give,” he says and finally looks at them properly, with a bitter smile on his lips. “I feel sorry for him for sinking this low.”

The silence stretches between the three of them until Yeosang sits up too, face distorted with anger. 

_Are you mad at me?_

“You were the one to whom he’s been going back all those times when he left.”

“Yeah, you were also the one to whom he’s been going back all those times when he left.”

San sees Wooyoung looking between them unintelligibly and he wonders if this is something that he doesn't know about. To know that Seonghwa was playing with their hearts at the same time, while Yeosang was holding his in the palm of his hands. 

“I was there first until you came and unconsciously stole him from me.”

And he doesn’t know why, but there’s sudden displeasure crawling up his chest and his vision goes red.

“You fucking took him from me and ruined him for everybody else! You dragged him through the dirt of your misery then tossed him back to me so that I can build him back up when I wasn’t even the one he wanted! You wrecked him, you destroyed the only man that I ever loved!”

It’s the first time he raises his voice at them. Wooyoung is speechless, eyes still wide, next to him, Yeosang has his face drowning in guilt - San knows that he is right, but it doesn’t bring him the satisfaction. You can’t be happy when you’re right about something that hurts you. 

Wooyoung’s expression slowly turns sour, lips pulling downwards, his eyes hardening with rage. But San won’t stay to hear the excuses, to watch how he gets defended from his accusations. He can’t let Yeosang erase his own actions by hiding behind a facade of weakly constructed numbness. 

He pulls away, getting off the bed, and reaches for his clothes.

“Where are you going?”

Wooyoung’s voice is clear and loud in the still empty morning air. It’s louder than he used to speak, but San feels the heat eating at his heart, anger tightening its hold around it - he _won’t_ stay to hear his words because the words he wants to hear are going to be left unspoken. 

“San?! Where are you going?!” he can hear the slight desperate edge of Wooyoung’s voice, but it doesn’t stop him. He has to get out before he can change his mind and say something he doesn’t want. Something that he _really_ doesn’t want. 

But he’s not fast enough. Wooyoung is out of the bed in seconds after realizing that San doesn’t want to stay, his hand already around his wrist.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?!”

His face is red, a different shade from last night when he writhed under San’s touch, pain twisting it into anger as his nails bore into his skin. 

“I can’t stay and listen to your excuses! I’m tired of always having to suffer because he can’t own it up!”

“Are you listening to what you’re saying? He did not know about you being in the picture, do you honestly think that he would have done it if he knew that there was somebody else suffering along with him in the game that Seonghwa played with him?!”

“I don’t care if he didn’t know about me. I care about the fact that he knew what he was doing and he still kept doing it!”

“That’s not for you to judge. You know nothing about the situation they were in, you can’t say things like that.”

“I can’t care about the situation! But how fucked up do you have to be to drag someone into your suffering then leave them when you’re fine? Do you understand me, Wooyoung? I don’t know how you got into that situation, but it doesn’t excuse it. He did it while perfectly knowing that he would never fall for Seonghwa! And he continued doing it even after Seonghwa confessed to him.”

“Are you seriously taking Seonghwa’s side right now? After everything he has done to you?”

“You know nothing about it!” he shouts and Wooyoung gets so surprised that he has to take a step back. 

“I know everything! I know every single detail! They screamed so loud that you’d have to be deaf to not hear them! Why do you think that I told you to take care of yourself back at the gallery?!”

_If it’s so loud then why is it that he didn’t hear it?_

“Did you hear the screaming too?” he asks, body turning towards Yeosang as he speaks the words. But the other is staying quiet, hands curling into fists by his side. 

“Leave him out of this!” Wooyoung turns San’s attention back to himself.

“I want him to say it out loud. Why did you play with his heart? Why did you make me suffer that long?”

“I didn’t -”

“You didn’t what? You don’t know it?”

“I didn’t see the screaming.”

Wooyoung bites down his lips, eyes turning to the ground. But before he can tell him again that it would be better if he would leave, San turns around and doesn’t stop until he pushes his back against the closed door. 

_Staying silent won’t make your problems go away._


	10. W: You, Me and Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably what love feels like.

Wooyoung’s phone stays silent for the rest of the day, his frantic calls and desperate messages all unanswered. He’s pretty sure at this rate San will block his number and the thought leaves him empty and heavy-hearted, in a grey daze till the end of his shift. 

It’s the small chime ten minutes before closing that brings him somehow out from the haze of nostalgic bliss. He turns to look at the person standing in the doorway while letting the afternoon noise slip into the shop; Wooyoung’s gaze gets stuck on Yeosang’s lean figure. But before he can ask him anything, Yeosang’s gilded hickory eyes darken dangerously and the question dies in the back of his throat. 

“I don’t want to go home.”

It’s not a plea. It’s not a wish either. 

“We don’t have to.”

And they don’t go home. Instead, they go back to the gallery. And they skip all the sections before _Pain,_ because to Wooyoung it is obvious that this small space of soft violets and harsh red colors is the representation of everything that San has been going through while Seonghwa and Yeosang kept playing their small game of cruel lovers. 

_“You were the one to whom he’s been going back all those times when he left.”_

_“Yeah, you were also the one to whom he’s been going back all those times when he left.”_

To realize that all this time there was a fourth person around makes the whole situation completely different because Wooyoung knew that Yeosang would come back to him eventually, but for San to suffer all along while he was still in a relationship with Seonghwa is crueler than anything Wooyoung can imagine. 

Seonghwa had known about Wooyoung, but Wooyoung had never known about San. 

“You really didn’t know where he was going when he left you alone?” he asks as they stand in front of the main piece where they first met San. They have the decency to not hold hands this time. 

“No. I was never interested to ask him and after all, he never asked me either where I was when I wasn't with him. It was a mutual agreement that made it seem like we don’t want anything serious out of what we had. Turns out it was never that simple.”

“Feelings are never that simple.”

“He was right though. I was so cruel to _him_.”

_You were cruel to everyone including yourself too._

And it’s not like they can change anything now. It’s rooted deep inside their memories and they have to live with it until the end of their consciousness. With Seonghwa’s smile and San’s tears. With Yeosang’s cruelty and Wooyoung’s silence. 

_They all have to live with these._

The painting still haunts him with its silent screaming; tearing into his skin, shredding his sanity into blood-filled shards, leaving him vulnerable and empty. Wooyoung’s hand itches to link his fingers together with Yeosang’s - but the sweet voice he’s been missing since this morning makes him stop, and he turns towards San with a small spark of relief blooming inside his chest.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes are red, cheeks slightly hollow and the circles around his eyes an ugly shade of purple. He’s wearing the same clothes, Wooyoung’s white t-shirt falling over his shoulder under his jacket, revealing the prominent jut of his collarbone and the silver necklace he’s been wearing ever since they’ve met him. The jewelry resembles the planet Saturn, with a small silver ball in the middle and few thin rings around it. It swings gently over his sternum and Wooyoung has the sudden urge to stop it from moving, but instead, he curls his hands into fists and bites his lips into a forced smile. 

“Because there’s no use for us going home if you’re not there.”

San’s eyes widen with an unexpected surprise, and Wooyoung’s heart skips a beat at the words falling softly from Yeosang’s lips. Was this really the reason why they decided to not go back? Or was this one of those white lies people usually tell to make them feel good about themselves without the dull ache of remorse? 

“Don’t lie.”

His voice raises in volume and it echoes slightly in the empty space of the section, face distorted with rage only those who have been hurt can feel. 

“I’m not lying. I have never lied to you.”

San looks taken aback, lips open like he wants to speak, but there’s no sound besides the static noise of the neon lights above them. 

Wooyoung feels just as shaken as him because Yeosang is completely right. They have never lied to him. It is true that he doesn’t know about _certain_ things, but it’s only a matter of time to share those secrets with him. Right now, it doesn’t look like San is ready for more secrets. 

“But you’re lying right now. You can’t possibly mean it. _You don’t love me yet_ to say those kinds of words. Don’t make me believe that you missed me when - ”

“Isn’t my presence here enough proof that I missed you? Do you think that if you don’t answer your phone I won’t find another way to reach you? Do you really think that after everything that happened between us last time I’ll make the same mistake again? That I’ll let you deal with it alone when you’re already part of us? _Do you think I’m that cruel?”_

There’s an inexplicable feeling bouncing inside Wooyoung’s chest, heart beating like a maniac in his rib cage at the sudden confession. Because Wooyoung knows Yeosang. He has known him longer than he knew his own mother, - he knows that he won’t make the same mistake twice. 

_I ignored your aching heart because I didn’t look down to see the blood pooling under your feet._

“Don’t - You’re making me forgive you too easily when all I want is to hate you for all the pain you had caused me.”

“You don’t have to forgive me! Hate me with all your heart, but I won’t let you suffer alone because of it. I’m not letting you go through that ever again.”

Wooyoung stays silent like a side character in a very important scene, watching it unfold while holding his breath back because he can’t do anything but stare. The control Yeosang has over the situation amazes him. He hadn’t seen him so determined in a long time. 

(It’s probably already five years since his father has passed away. Five years since he finally freed himself from his mother’s shadow.)

“You don’t love me,” is San’s answer, voice breaking on the edge of the sentence and he holds back the tears swelling in his eyes. 

“But will you let me? Will you let me love you? Will you let _us_ love you?” 

Wooyoung sees the exact moment when it becomes too much, the shift in San’s posture, how his shoulder starts to turn away before his head and the rest of his body follow. He let him go too easily this morning. _He won’t make the same mistake again._

He takes three large steps, barely reaching San’s wrist, fingers wrapping securely around it as he stops him. 

“Leave me,” he says without turning back but keeps still, and from this up close Wooyoung can see the delicate tremble abusing his shoulder. He doesn’t think about his next move too much, just pulls San closer by the hold he has on his wrist, snaking his arm around his middle as he pushes him tight against his chest, lips close to his ear.

“You can hate me all you want, but I’m not letting you go.” 

San doesn’t struggle in Wooyoung’s hold, instead lets himself fall back against his chest, his free hand sliding over the one on his stomach, intertwining their fingers together. 

“ _Please_.”

He chokes on the syllable, closing his eyes shut tight as he lets the tears fall rapidly down his face. Wooyoung pushes his face into the crook of his neck, lips lingering over his skin as his body shakes slightly too. 

“Don’t - Don’t let me go _again_.”

Guilt tightens around his heart and he leaves a feather-light kiss against his neck, arms holding San so close that no one can tell where one starts and where one ends. Until Sam turns around and without looking at Wooyoung properly, dives back into the hug, burrowing his face where the fine line of Wooyoung’s neck connects with his shoulder, arms around his neck, lips dangerously close to his pulse. 

“Promise to not leave again?” San asks, voice almost inaudible, warm breath coiling over his skin.

And all Wooyoung can do is nod, wrists linked together on the small of his back, pressing him gently even more closer. He can feel the steady rhythm of San’s heart against his chest, his cold nose pressed into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, fingers threading softly into his hair - his breathing is loud, but it doesn’t suffocate him. It makes Wooyoung more aware of the fragile body between his arms and lets the feeling settle in the depth of his chest as he whispers in his ear.

“ _We_ won’t leave you ever again. I promise”

_Because there’s not only him but Yeosang too. Because it’s about the two of them._

_The three of them._

⚬

San takes them to his apartment that’s situated deep in the heart of the capital because neither of them wants to go back to the place where this morning started. 

“It’s where I stay when I don’t want people to find me or when I’m too drunk to drive back home,” he says as they leave the car in a brightly lightened corner of the parking lot, taking the elevator to the top of the building. 

The ride up is left in silence. Wooyoung between them in the middle, like a barrier because of the tension vibrating around the other two. Every time he catches their gaze meeting in the middle, there’s a strong spark in the air and he doesn’t know how to name it. Is it frustration? Anger? Almost like jealousy - but that must be the most absurd feeling ever in this exact situation. What could any of them be jealous of? Is it maybe envy?

But fortunately, it doesn’t threaten him. It does leave an odd feeling clawing down his spine gently but he lets it warm him up, heat coiling in his stomach when Yeosang pulls him closer by the arm around his waist as his gaze meets with San’s, an amused shine in his eyes as he looks at the hand on his body then back at him. 

“ _Pretty,”_ he mouths the word and when his eyes slide over to Yeosang, Wooyoung hears the low chuckle clear in his ear, and this time the spark explodes into a kiss on the high of his cheekbones, the small place filling with San’s high-pitched laugh. Wooyoung’s lips pull with a sweet smile watching how the lines deepen around San’s eyes when he scrunches them up, head thrown back. 

_In the harsh neon light of the elevator, the dried tear streaks on his face glint cold and forgotten._

San’s apartment - his second home -, is bigger than their place, with a lot of empty spaces, high ceilings, and glass walls watching over the city. The bare minimum is what Wooyoung likes to call it. 

“Did you eat today?” he asks, turning around with a bottle of wine in his hand after closing the fridge, but doesn’t even wait for Wooyoung’s answer before he continues, “I want to order takeout. What would you like to eat?”

Wooyoung shrugs his shoulders before looking at Yeosang then back at him. 

“I’m fine with anything.” 

San looks tired enough to not argue with him, settling the bottle down on the counter before making the order. Wooyoung regrets it instantly and now it feels like they’re back at square one; back at strangers who don’t necessarily want to outstay their welcome, stepping from one foot to another, as if their presence in this place is the most embarrassing thing that could ever exist.

He looks at Yeosang and the drained smile painted on his lips saddens him even more. 

This is not how this should feel. Not this awkward, and definitely not this heavy with silence. But Wooyoung is not fast enough to mask his feelings when San turns back towards him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you sad?”

_How does one explain something that even they don’t know?_

“I don’t know. I - I - I really don’t know,” he stutters because this feeling came out of nowhere and is eating at his heart tirelessly. 

He’s so deep in his head, he doesn’t even notice when San steps in front of him, hugging him close, pushing his head gently with his hand into the crook of his neck. Wooyoung’s vision becomes blurry as the feeling inside his chest explodes into tiny sparks and he starts to cry just like he did the first time when San was at their place. 

It all comes back in flashes. Long nights spent alone in their shared empty room. Tired eyes looking through him like he was made of glass. Cruel smiles carved into the back of his mind. 

_“You are standing in my way, Wooyoung.”_

He hugs San closer to himself, burrowing his head further into the crook of his neck, holding onto him like the next wave of frustration will wash him deeper into the grey sadness of his soul. 

“It’s okay,” is what San whispers to him, hands sliding up and down his back in a soothing manner which brings a fresh set of tears into his eyes, running down to his chin. This should have never been about him. He’s the last between them who needed care. He was supposed to be the strongest out of all - yet he is the one breaking down the fastest, clutching helplessly onto San, fingers twisting in the material of his shirt. “You can let it all out. It’s okay, you are allowed to cry.”

It breaks from the depth of his chest, shattering like glass against concrete and it leaves him shaking, holding onto the other tighter, whimpering into his skin as his legs finally give up. Because he can finally let go. Because there is finally someone who will catch him if he falls deeper. Because now can be strong enough to let it all go. 

So he gives up. Body becoming limp in San’s hold, and if the other notices the way he keeps falling further, he doesn’t mention it, just holds him tighter, arms secure around Wooyoung’s waist. 

_“Lovely.”_

Yeosang’s arms snake around his middle, leaving delicate kisses against the nape of his neck. Wooyoung can feel how both of them hold him together as he slowly falls apart in their embrace. _He keeps them together. He is the missing piece, holding them together. They need him._ Just like he needs them too. 

⚬

The empty takeout boxes are stacked together on the floor, wooden chopsticks peeking out from the top one. They are sharing one glass of wine, him and San; Yeosang holding a steaming hot cup of tea between his hands. At one point when San reaches for the glass, Wooyoung shudders at the warm touch of his fingers across his knuckles and almost drops what’s in his hand. San is quick to wrap his fingers around his, looking at Wooyoung worriedly.

“Were your hands always this cold?”

Wooyoung doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t cold. And it was not about feeling cold, but about the heaviness of ice that settled inside him, that kept him strong and stable, almost always unpleasant to the touch of others. 

“I’m always cold,” he says, letting San gently take the glass from between his fingers. “It’s okay. I’m used to,” he continues with a pained smile on his lips

“But will you let me warm you up?”

Wooyoung gets taken aback by the question and he can feel the heat flooding his sense. It’s so warm suddenly that he has to touch his face to feel the cold of his hands still intact. 

“It’s fine. You don’t need - ”

San covers his hand with his own, pressing Wooyoung’s hand further into the scalding touch of his face, sparks cracking over his knuckles as the warmth of the other’s hand spreads through his own. 

“I want to. Will you let me?”

But he doesn’t wait for an answer, setting the glass down on the floor before standing up and tugging Wooyoung with himself by the delicate hold he has on his wrist. 

To his utter surprise, San takes him to the bathroom, letting go of his hand before opening the faucet to let the tub fill with water. Then pushes him gently against the cold edge of it, hands firm on his waist. 

“Can I?” he asks, pulling slightly at the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt. He raises his arms high and lets San tug the piece of fabric off, and he feels physically cold after for the first time in a while. When he looks up, he catches Yeosang’s soft smile over San’s shoulder and reaches his arm towards him.

“Come here, love.”

San turns in Yeosang’s direction, lips curving with another smile before he looks back at Wooyoung again. Yeosang hugs San from behind, meeting Wooyoung’s lips in the middle as they kiss over San’s shoulder. Wooyoung absentmindedly searches for the hem of San’s shirt, bumping into Yeosang’s hands, and they pull it off together.

San throws his head against Yeosang’s shoulder, whispering playfully into his ears. 

“You want to join us?”

Wooyoung can feel the smile against his lips before Yeosang leans back to leave a loud kiss on San’s cheek before taking his own shirt off. “It’s not like you wanted me to stay away.”

“You’re right,” he whispers against the sharp line of his jaw, “From now on it should always be the three of us.”

Wooyoung looks at them, at the way how easily they shape themselves to be comfortable around the other and how natural it all seems, - San’s head on his shoulder and his hands around his thin waist, how he closes his eyes to listen to what he has to whisper into his ears. And when Yeosang looks at him with those cold, sharp eyes Wooyoung feels it coming altogether, - pulling himself close to them by the hold he has on San’s waist, burying his face into the crook of his neck. 

“Hi, lovely.”

And they stay like that for minutes, warm bodies tangled together, _heartbeat over heartbeat._


End file.
